(.*'<•'•?* 


^^ 


i(!>'i 


—] 


SHAKESPEARE  STUDIES 


BY 


MEMBERS  OF  THE  DEPARTMENT  OF  ENGLISH 


OF  THE 


UNIVERSITY  OF  WISCONSIN 


TO  COMMEMORATE  THE  THREE-HUNDREDTH 

ANNIVERSARY  OF  THE  DEATH  OF 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE, 

APRIL  23,  1616 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE  UNIVERSITY 

MADISON 

19  16 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 
BY 
THE  DEPARTMENT  OF  ENGLISH 
UNIVERSITY  OF  WISCONSIN 


SHAKESPEARE  STUDIES 


333676 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

I.     Sonnets  on  the  Self  of  William  Shakespeare, 

William  Ellery  Leonard       -      -      -      -        9 

II.     Locrine  and  Selimus, 

Frank  G.  Hubbard 17 

P  )t  III.  Shakespeare's  Pathos, 

J,F.  A.  Pyre 36 


p  J* IV.     The  Function  of  the  Songs  in  Shakespeare's 
Plays, 
John  Robert  Moore 78 

m  .V.     An  Elizabethan  Defence  of  the  Stage, 

V  Karl  Young 103  ^- 

\        ■  VI.     Some  Principles  of  Shakespeare  Staging, 
^  Thomas  H.  Dickinson 125    i^- 

VII.     The  Collaboration  of  Beaumont,  Fletcher, 
and  Massinger, 
Louis  Wann     -------     147 

VIII.     An  Obsolete  Elizabethan  Mode  of  Rhym- 
ing, 
R.E.  Neil  Dodge 174 

IX,     Shakespeare's  Sonnets  and  Plays, 

--^"         Arthur  Beatty 201 

•  X.     Garrick's  Vagary, 

Lily  B.  Campbell 215 

XI.     A  Dutch  Analogue  of  Richard  the  Third, 

0.  J.  Campbell,  Jr, 231 

•  XII.     Joseph  Ritson  and  Some  Eighteenth  Cen- 
tury Editors  of  Shakespeare, 
HenryA.Birrd 253 

'XIII.     Charles  Lamb  and  Shakespeare, 

Frederick  W.  Roe   jfi .  ,^      -      -      -      -     276 


SONNETS  ON  THE  SELF  OF  WILLIAM 
SHAKESPEARE 

William  Ellery  Leonard 


They  say  that  such  thy  selflessness  in  giving 
Selves  to  thy  creatures  and  rich  everydays. 
Thy  self  escapes  us,  whilst  those  selves  be  living, — 
They  say,  and  saying  do  intend  thy  praise. 
Not  so.    Thou  Life — most  life,  begetting  life — 
So  gav'st  thy  lineaments  to  king  and  clown. 
Thy  pitch  of  voice,  thy  bent  at  love  or  strife. 
Thy  tricks  of  walking,  or  of  sitting  down. 
That  were  some  guest  who  knew  thy  progeny 
Met  at  the  Mermaid  with  thy  band  and  Ben, 
He'd  know  the  corner-chair  that  compassed  thee. 
And  name  the  Shakespeare  of  those  merry  men, 
Even  had  he  never  seen  thy  pictured  dust — 
The  folio's  graven  brass,  the  Stratford  bust. 


9] 


10  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Or  turn  it  round :  what  man  of  wit  and  worth. 
Practiced  in  hearts  and  heads,  if  he  should  meet 
Some  of  thy  offspring  (known  to  all  the  earth) 
Unknown,  unsired,  upon  some  Noman's  street. 
Could  not  contrive  the  lineage,  could  not  find 
In  tragic  hero  with  the  poet's  eye, 
In  jester  with  the  analytic  mind. 
Something  for  sure  to  name  his  father  by; 
In  lover,  madman,  maiden,  something  there 
Of  fancy  delicate,  or  passion  free, 
Not  even  in  thy  next  of  kin,  Moliere, 
Involved  in  thy  inveterate  irony. 
Proclaiming  more  than  blazon  highest  hung 
The  great  progenitor  from  whence  they  sprung. 


SONNETS  11 

Self  is  the  origin  and  end  of  art, 
'Tis  but  the  symbol  varies:  each  will  tell 
His  goal  of  mind,  his  plenitude  of  heart. 
What  might  befall  him,  or  before  befell. 
Some  speak  the  naked  words,  *'I  love,  I  hate;" 
Some  as  a  lark  surmount  the  setting  sun; 
Some  pour  themselves  in  story  or  debate; 
But  lyric,  epic,  drama,  all  are  one. 
And  thou  art  mightier,  more  mainfest 
Than  all  the  others,  having  multiplied 
Thyself  in  thought,  in  love,  in  rage,  in  jest. 
In  all  conditions,  more  than  all  beside: 
And  yet  that  more  of  thee  is  so  much  more. 
We  least  can  measure,  where  we  most  adore. 


12  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

But  thy  humanity  is  so  much  ours, 

Such  of  our  little  is  in  thy  so-vast, 

That  love  and  kinship  in  essential  powers 

Give  adoration  a  familiar  cast. 

There  is  in  Aeschylus  too  much  of  sky. 

Of  doom,  of  thunder,  god,  and  precipice; 

Too  much  of  Hell  in  Dante's  awful  eye, 

Despite  its  visioning  of  Beatrice: 

But  thou,  if  thou  transcend  us,  still  art  here; 

If  prophecy,  an  earthly  prophecy; 

A  far  To-morrow,  a  To-day  how  near; 

Thy  sole  self  now,  but  all  mankind  to-be. 

And  all  the  best  the  world's  best  artists  reach. 

We  measure  by  thy  stature  and  thy  speech. 


SONNETS  13 

Near,  but  not  common.     When  the  times-to-come 

Shall  breed  a  race,  with  eye  as  quick  and  wide 

To  see  each  shape  and  hue  and  trace  it  home, 

Each  motion,  whence  engendered,  how  applied; 

A  race  that  looks  with  thy  inerrant  ken 

Each  object  through,  beyond  its  rags  and  robes, 

And,  having  worked,  will  go  to  work  again. 

And,  having  probed  the  world,  forever  probes; 

A  race  with  memory  for  all  behind. 

With  hope  to  all  ahead;  a  race  where  each 

Contains  his  fellow,  mind  surrounding  mind; 

Born  to  thy  incommunicable  speech: 

Then  shalt  thou  common  be,  with  joys  and  tears, — 

Obscured  amid  the  sanity  of  peers. 


14  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Musing  by  night  on  thee,  this  fancy  came: 
Suppose  the  earth  were  blasted  to  a  rind, 
Shent  too  of  waters,  winds,  and  heavenly  flame, 
It  could  be  clothed  and  peopled  from  thy  mind: 
What  hills  and  woods,  and  under  what  a  sun! 
What  streams  and   seas,   and  what  a  fair  moon 

under! 
What  prodigality  of  flowers  begun. 
What  winds  recruited,  what  revived  thunder! 
What  birds  would  sing,  and  to  what  maiden  vows; 
What  hounds  would  hunt,  and  with  what  hunter's 

horn ; 
What  thatched  roofs,  what  towns,  what  masted 

prows; 
What  merchants,  rogues,  and  kings,  and  dames, 

re-born! 
An  earth  so  furnished,  filled  with  such  an  host, 
The  gods  would  scarce  lament  the  one  they  lost. 


SONNETS  15 

Indeed,  'twere  goodlier  to  deities 

Than  earth  as  now;  familiars  would  they  meet 

On  bosky  islands,  under  moony  trees. 

Spirits  of  iris  wing  and  fairy  feet; 

And,  finding  entertainment  from  mankind 

Less  niggard  than  when  now  to  earth  they  come. 

Finding  more  dancers  in  the  May-morn  wind, 

More  singing  goodmen  at  the  harvest-home, 

More  awe  at  bridal,  burial,  they  would  then 

Revisit  oftener  than  now  the  streams 

And  myriad  villages  of  mortal  men. 

And  oft'ner  send  their  services  and  dreams. 

Nor  would  they  mourn  such  engin'ry  of  strife 

As  now  most  keeps  them  rearward  of  our  life. 


// 


16  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Three  centuries  'tis  since  Ben,  thy  comrade,  swore 
Thou  wert  not  of  an  age  but  for  all  time; 
New  states  have  risen,  old  have  gone  before; 
New  knowledge  come,  and  poets  with  new  rhyme. 
But  thou  abidest  through  all  change  the  same, — 
Nay,  not  the  same;  such  thy  mysterious  growth, 
Thy  self  increaseth  with  increasing  fame. 
And  three  large  centuries  are  increased  by  both. 
Thy  heart  and  head  have  been  communicated 
To  millions,  who  were  after  blent  with  thee; 
Thy  voice,  in  hundred  languages  translated. 
Takes  on  a  blending  with  the  wind  and  sea. 
Thou  art  so  great  that  thou  wilt  not  despise 
This  book  we've  wrought  thee  under  alien  skies. 


LOGRINE  AND  SELIMUS 
Frank  G.  Hubbard 


The  chronology  of  the  English  drama  between 
1585  and  1595  is  a  tangled  web,  which  has  thus  far 
failed  to  yield,  to  any  great  extent,  to  the  efforts 
of  investigators.  Many  attempts  have  been  made 
to  determine  the  dates  of  individual  plays,  but 
generally  the  result  reached  is  either  too  indefinite, 
or  based  upon  too  slight  evidence,  to  be  of  much 
value.  The  importance  of  accurate  chronology 
here  can  hardly  be  overestimated,  for  it  is  within 
the  period  of  these  ten  years,  1585-1595,  that  the 
English  drama  passes  through  a  development  mar- 
velous in  its  rapidity.  It  advances  from  the  crud- 
ity of  The  Spanish  Tragedy  to  the  strength  and 
beauty  of  Greene's  James  IV  and  Marlowe's 
Edward  II;  it  develops  from  rough,  crude  power  to 
perfection  of  form. 

In  the  case  of  any  one  of  the  dramatists  whom  we 
call  the  predecessors  of  Shakespeare,  there  is  very 
little  external  evidence  for  the  order  of  his  plays; 
generally  speaking,  the  best  that  can  be  done  is 
to  arrange  them  in  the  order  that  seems  to  be  de- 
manded by  what  we  suppose  to  be  the  natural 

[17] 

S— 2. 


18  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

course  of  development  of  the  writer's  dramatic 
power.  And  here  comes  in  a  rather  disturbing 
element.  The  development  of  dramatic  writing  is 
proceeding  so  rapidly  that  a  playwright's  style 
and  method  seldom  appear  the  same  in  two  of  his 
plays.  One  who  has  forced  his  way  through  the 
crudities  of  Alphonsus  of  Arragon  finds  that  his 
ideas  of  Greene's  dramatic  style  are  all  upset  when 
he  Te2ids  Friar  Bacon  and  Friar  Bungay ;  and  further, 
when  he  has  enjoyed  the  delicate  beauty  of  James 
IV,  he  is  inclined  to  doubt  the  fact  of  Greene's 
authorship.  The  same  is  true,  but  in  a  less  de- 
gree, of  the  other  dramatists  under  consideration. 
There  seems  often  to  be  more  likeness  between 
two  plays  of  different  authors  than  between  the 
individual  works  of  either  of  them.  Any  state- 
ment, therefore,  that  a  particular  characteristic 
belongs  to  Greene's  style,  or  Peele's  style,  or  even 
Marlowe's  style  can  in  general  hold  good  for  only 
one  or,  at  most,  two  plays  of  the  author  in  question. 

We  have  in  this  period  a  large  number  of  anony- 
mous plays,  some  of  which  (for  example,  Edward 
III)  are  as  good  as  the  best  work  of  known  authors, 
and  all  of  which  are  of  much  interest  and  signifi- 
cance from  the  standpoint  of  dramatic  history. 
Much  has  been  written  concerning  their  author- 
ship and  relation  to  other  plays,  but  with  little 
definite  result.  It  is  my  object  in  this  paper  to 
discuss  the  relation  of  two  of  these  anonymous 
plays,  Locrine  and  Selimus. 

Locrine  was  entered  in  the  Stationers'  Register 
in  1594  and  published  in  1595  as  "Newly  set  forth, 


LOCRINE    AND    SELIMUS  19 

overseene  and  corrected  by  W.  S."  This  statement 
caused  it  to  be  attributed  to  Shakespeare,  and  it 
is  one  of  the  six  plays  added  to  the  Third  and 
Fourth  Folios.  Its  theme,  taken  from  early  British 
legendary  history,  has  been  treated  many  times  in 
English  literature,  most  recently  by  Swinburne^ 
The  play  has  strongly  marked  Senecan  character- 
istics, including  a  ghost  that  cries  "Vindicta!";  the 
material  is  cast  in  the  form  of  a  double  revenge 
action.  The  diction  is  very  stilted  and  artificial; 
classical  references  and  allusions  abound  on  every 
page;  extravagant  ranting  speech  is  not  wanting. 
There  are  some  good  comic  scenes.  It  is  generally 
agreed  that  the  play  was  written  some  years  before 
publication  but  later  than  The  Spanish  Tragedy  and 
Tamhurlaine, 

Selimus  was  published  in  1594.  The  first  part 
of  its  very  long  title  reads  The  First  part  of  the 
Tragical  raigne  of  Selimus,  sometime  emperour  of 
the  Turkes.  It  is  a  tragedy  in  the  style  of  Tambur- 
laine,  which  it  seems  to  imitate.  The  hero  is  am- 
bitious, cruel,  remorseless,  making  his  way  to  the 
throne  by  bloody  deeds  of  all  sorts.  In  the  course 
of  the  play  eyes  are  put  out  and  hands  are  cut  off; 
men  are  poisoned;  one  character  is  thrown  from  a 
tower  upon  the  points  of  a  circle  of  spears;  strang- 
ling is  a  most  commonplace  way  of  putting  an  end 
to  enemies.  There  are  bashaws  and  janissaries  in 
plenty  and  all  the  other  accompaniments  of  a 
supposed  Turkish  court. 

^  Cf.  Theodor  Erbe,  Die  Locrinesage  und  die  Quellen  des  Pseudo-Shak- 
spearschen  Locrine,  Studien  zur  englischen  Philologie,  XVI. 


20  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Locrine  was  translated  by  Tieck  and  published 
in  his  Altenglisches  Theater  in  1811.  He  regarded 
it  as  an  early  work  of  Shakespeare  and  called  at- 
tention to  the  fact  that  one  passage  is  written  in 
the  stanza  form  used  in  Venus  and  Adonis.  In  his 
copy  of  the  Third  Folio  he  left  marginal  notes  in- 
dicating that  passages  of  Locrine  had  been  bor- 
rowed from  Spenser's  Complaints,  published  in 
1591.  Tieck's  material  was  published  by  Rudolph 
Brotanek  in  1900.^  Charles  Crawford  in  1901  re- 
discovered these  borrowings  from  Spenser,  and 
also  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  there  are 
many  correspondences  between  Locrine  and  Seli- 
mus,  and  that  some  of  these  involve  the  passages 
borrowed  from  Spenser's  Complaints.^  His  infer- 
ence from  the  evidence  brought  forward  is,  that 
Locrine  borrows  from  Selimus.  Some  years  ago  I 
studied  these  plays  in  connection  with  another 
matter,  and  later  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
Selimus  borrows  from  Locrine,  just  the  reverse 
of  Crawford's  conclusion.  Shortly  after  this  the 
Jahrbuch  der  deutschen  S  hakes  p  ear  e-Ges  ells  chaft, 
1905,  came  into  my  hand;  in  this  I  found  an  article 
by  E.  Koeppel,  ''Locrine''  und  ''Selimus,''^  in  which 
he  reaches  the  conclusion  that  Selimus  borrows 
from  Locrine  on  grounds  somewhat  smaller  than 
those  that  had  led  me  to  the  same  conclusion.  I 
later  communicated  the  results  of  my  investiga- 

1  Beiblatt  zur  Anglia,  11,  202  ff. 

2  Notes  and  Queries,  9th  Series,  Vol.  7.  Correspondences  between  Locrine 
and  Selimus  were  noted  by  P.  A.  Daniel  in  the  Athenaeum  April  16,  1898, 
p.  512,  but  he  published  no  material.    Cf.  Crawford  Collectanea,  I,  99-100. 

3  Vol.  XLI,  193-200. 


LOCRINE    AND    SELIMUS  21 

tion  to  Professor  J.  W.  Cunliffe,  who  has  set  them 
forth  in  his  chapter  on  Early  English  Tragedy  in 
The  Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature,^ 

Let  us  consider  now  the  evidence  that  shows 
that  Selimus  borrows  from  Locrine,  The  first  point 
is  concerned  with  the  comic  scenes  of  the  plays. 

In  Locrine,  Act  IV,  Sc.  II, ^  Humber,  in  a  starving 
condition,  is  crying  out  for  food. 

This  fruitless  soyle,  this  ground,  brings  forth  no  meat. 
The  gods,  hard  harted  gods,  yeeld  me  no  meat. 

Strumbo,  the  chief  comic  character  of  the  play, 
enters,  and  describes  in  a  coarse,  humorous  way 
his  experience  with  his  termagant  wife.  He  sits 
down  to  eat  and  is  discovered  by  the  starving 
Humber,  who  demands  food.  Strumbo  is  about  to 
comply  with  his  demand,  when  his  hand  is  struck 
by  the  ghost  of  Albanact  (whom  Humber  has 
slain),  and  the  scene  closes  with  a  speech  by  the 
ghost. 

In  Selimus,  11.  1873-1997, ^  we  have  a  scene,  in 
which  Bullithrumble,  a  shepherd,  enters  and  de- 
scribes in  a  humorous  speech  his  experience  with 
his  shrewish  wife.  Enter  Corcut  and  his  page,  who 
have  been  starving  for  two  days.  They  persuade 
the  shepherd  to  relieve  their  hunger. 

The  correspondence  between  the  two  scenes  was 
noted  by  Charles  Crawford  in  Notes  and  Queries, 


1  Vol.  V,  95-98. 

2 IV,  II,  18-19.  References  are  to  The  Shakespeare  Apocrypha,  edited  by 
C.  F.  Tucker  Brooke.    Oxford,  1908. 

3  References  are  to  Grosart's  edition,  in  The  Temple  Dramatists,  Lon- 
don, 1898. 


22  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

1901,^  who  infers  from  it  that  Locrine  copies  Sell- 
mus.  E.  KoeY)ipe\,  in  J ahrbuch  der  deutschen  Shake- 
speare-Gesellschaft,  1905,  also  notes  this  correspond- 
ence of  scenes,  but  his  inference  is  that  BuUi- 
thrumble  in  Selimus  is  a  weak  copy  of  Strumbo  in 
Locrine.^  He  notes  also  that  the  scene  in  Selimus 
is  the  only  bit  of  the  comic  in  that  play. 

Before  seeing  Koeppel's  article  I  had  arrived  at 
the  same  conclusion,  mainly  on  the  ground  that 
the  comic  character  in  Selimus  appears  only  at 
this  one  place,  whereas  in  Locrine  Strumbo  is  a 
comic  character  who  appears  all  through  the  earlier 
parts  of  the  play,  and  his  speech  and  action  in  the 
scene  under  consideration  are  consistent  with  his 
speech  and  action  in  the  earlier  comic  scenes  of 
the  play.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive 
that  the  author  of  Locrine  developed  the  character 
Strumbo  from  the  hints  given  in  this  scene  of 
Selimus,  but  it  is  perfectly  natural  to  infer  that 
the  author  of  Selimus  copied  a  part  of  one  of  the 
comic  scenes  of  Locrine  that  suited  his  dramatic 
purpose. 

But  much  stronger  proof  that  Selimus  borrows 
from  Locrine  can  be  drawn  from  a  consideration 
of  the  material  in  the  two  plays  that  has  been 
taken  from  Spenser's  Complaints.  There  is  much 
more  of  this  material  in  Locrine  than  in  Selimus, 
and  a  careful  examination  of  the  passages  in  ques- 

1  Ninth  Series,  Vol.  7,  p.  102  (Collectanea  I,  58-9).  Crawford's  article, 
Edmund  Spenser,  "Locrine,"  and  "Selimus,"  has  been  reprinted  in  his  Col- 
lectanea, Vol.  I  pp.  47-100.   My  references  to  Crawford  are  to  this  reprint. 

2  "Es  kann  keinem  Zweifel  unterliegen,  dass  der  Pantoffelheld  Bulli- 
thrumble  eine  schwachliche  Kopie  des  mannhaften  Schusters  ist."  Jahr- 
buch  XLI,  196. 


LOCRINE    AND    SELIMUS  23 

tion  reveals  the  fact  that  Selimus  has  nothing 
from  the  Complaints  (with  the  possible  exception 
of  a  single  line^)  that  is  not  found  in  Locnne,  al- 
though Selimus  draws  freely  from  The  Faerie  Queene, 
from  which  Locrine  takes  nothing.  ^  But  more 
than  this.  In  one  passage,  made  up  mostly  of 
lines  borrowed  from  Spenser,  the  author  of  Locrine 
(if  he  has  not  taken  them  from  Selimus)  has  in- 
serted lines  of  his  own.  The  lines  borrowed  from 
Spenser  are  from  two  passages,  not  far  apart,  in  the 
RuinesofRome(\l  150-162,  211-216).  Now  Selimus 
has  eight  of  these  Locrine  lines,  three  of  which  are 
Spenser's  and  five  original  with  Locrine  (or  Seli- 
mus). But  Selimus  has  them  in  two  different 
places  far  apart,  (11.  419-20,  11.  2433-38),  and 
the  second  passage  (2433-38)  is  made  up  of 
one  line  from  Spenser  and  five  original  with 
Locrine  (or  Selimus) ;  in  Locrine  all  the  lines  under 
consideration  occur  in  one  connected  passage,  II, 
iv,  1-18.  To  make  the  matter  plainer  I  give  be- 
low the  passages  from  Locrine,  Selimus,  and  Ruines 
of  Rome.^ 

Hum.     How  bravely  this  yoong  Brittain,  Albanact, 
*Darteth  abroad  the  thunderbolts  of  warre, 
*Beating  downe  millions  with  his  furious  moode, 
*And  in  his  glorie  triumphs  over  all, 


^  As  those  old  earth-bred  brethren,  which  once 

Sel.  2432. 
Like  as  whilome  the  children  of  the  earth 

Ruines  of  Rome,  155. 
Which  whilom  did  those  earth  born  brethren  blinde 

Ruines  of  Rome,  140. 
2  Cf.  Crawford,  p.  59. 

'  The  lines  of  Locrine  taken  from  Ruines  of  Rome  are  indicated  by  the 
asterisk. 


24  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

*Mowing    [text,    mouing]    the    massie    squadrons    off    [text, 

squadrants  of]  the  ground: 
*Heaps  hills  on  hills,  to  scale  the  starrie  skie, 

As  when  Briareus,  armed  with  an  hundreth  hands, 

Floong  forth  an  hundreth  mountains  at  great  loue. 

And  when  the  monstrous  giant  Monichus 

Hurld  Mount  Olimpus  at  great  Mars  his  targe, 

And  shot  huge  cedars  at  Minerua's  shield. 

How  doth  he  ouerlooke  with  hautie  front 

My  fleeting  hostes,  and  lifts  his  loftie  face 

Against  vs  all  that  now  do  feare  his  force, 
*Like  as  we  see  the  wrathfull  sea  from  farre, 
*In  a  great  mountaine  heapt,  with  hideous  noise, 
♦With  thousand  billows  beat  against  the  ships, 
♦And  tosse  them  in  the  wanes  like  tennis  balls. 

Locrine,  II,  v,  1-18. 

I'd  dart  abroad  the  thunderbolts  of  war. 

And  mow  their  heartless  squadrons  to  the  ground. 

Selimus,  419-20. 

Were  they  as  mighty  and  as  fell  of  force 
As  those  old  earth-bred  brethren,  which  once 
Heap'd  hill  on  hill  to  scale  the  starry  sky. 
When  Briareus,  arm'd  with  a  hundreth  hands. 
Flung  forth  a  hundreth  mountains  at  great  Jove; 
And  when  the  monstrous  giant  Monichus 
Hurld  mount  Olympus  at  great  Mars  his  targe, 
And  darted  cedars  at  Minerva's  shield. 

Selimus,  2431-38. 

Mow'd  downe  themselves  with  slaughter  mercilesse 

Ruines  of  Rome,  138. 
Then  gan  that  nation,  th'  earth's  new  giant  brood. 
To  dart  abroad  the  thunder  bolts  of  warre. 
And,  beating  downe  these  walls  with  furious  mood 

149-51 
Like  as  whilome  the  children  of  the  earth 
Heapt  hils  on  hils,  to  scale  the  starrie  skie 

155-6 
The  furious  squadrons  downe  to  ground  did  fall 

160 
And  th'  heavens  in  glorie  triumpht  over  all 

162 
Like  as  ye  see  the  wrathfull  sea  from  farre. 
In  a  great  mountaine  heap't  with  hideous  noyse, 


LOCRINE    AND    SELIMUS  25 

Eftsoones  of  thousand  billowes  shouldred  narre 

211-13 
Tossing  huge  tempests  through  the  troubled  skie 

216 

If  we  assume  that  Selimus  is  copied  by  Locrine 
here,  we  are  compelled  to  believe  that  the  author 
of  Locrine  made  up  the  passage  in  question  of  two 
passages  from  Selimus  far  apart,  a  passage  from  the 
Ruines  of  Rome  not  used  by  the  author  of  Selimus, 
and  inserted  lines  of  his  own.  It  is  surely  much 
more  probable  that  the  author  of  Locrine  borrowed 
from  two  passages  of  the  Ruines  of  Rome,  inserting 
lines  of  his  own,  and  that  the  author  of  Selimus 
borrowed  lines  from  Locrine,  putting  them  in  two 
parts  of  his  play.  This  probability  becomes  almost 
certainty  when  we  remember  that  Selimus  has 
nothing  from  Spenser's  Complaints  (with  the  pos- 
sible exception  of  a  single  line)  not  found  in  Locrine, 
while  Locrine  has  much  from  the  Complaints  not 
found  in  Selimus.  To  put  it  briefly,  our  conclusion 
is,  that  all  the  borrowings  from  the  Complaints 
found  in  Selimus  come  by  way  of  Locrine.  This  is 
certainly  more  reasonable  than  Crawford's  explana- 
tion, "The  author  of  Locrine  merely  happened  to 
discover  that  Selimus  had  obtained  a  small  portion 
of  its  material  from  The  Ruines  of  Rome,  and  he 
followed  suit,  but  with  less  discretion  and  infinitely 
less  ability."^  It  is  very  strange  that  the  author  of 
Locrine  made  this  discovery  and  failed  to  discover 
the  borrowings  from  The  Faerie  Queene  in  Selimus, 

^  Crawford,  p.  57. 


26  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

which  are  much  more  numerous.  Locrine  has 
nothing  from  The  Faerie  Queene.^ 

Additional  evidence  for  the  priority  of  Locrine 
may  be  found,  I  believe,  in  a  case  in  which  the 
author  of  that  play  has  plainly  borrowed  from 
Greene's  Menaphon,  as  he  has  borrowed  from  other 
prose  works  of  Greene.  The  passage  in  Menaphon 
runs  as  follows:  "As  if  another  Alcides  (the  arme- 
strong  darling  of  the  doubled  night)  by  wrastling 
with    snakes," 2   etc.    Locrine    has     (III,     iv,    34) 

The  armestrong  offspring  of  the  doubled  night. 

Selimus  has  in  one  passage  (1668-71)  the  epithet 
"armstrong"  in  a  context,  two  lines  of  which  are 
parallel  to  lines  of  Locrine.  One  of  these  lines  in 
Locrine  is  in  a  context  that  is  plainly  developed 
from  the  passage  taken  from  Menaphon.  Words 
or  phrases  suggested  by  Greene's  expression  are 
found  in,  at  least,  two  other  passages  of  Locrine. 
I  give  below  all  the  passages  in  question,  using 
italics  to  bring  out  the  parallels. 

The  armestrong  offspring  of  the  doubled  night, 

Stout  Hercules,  Alcmena's  mightie  sonne, 

That  tamde  the  monsters  of  the  threefold  world 

Locrine,  III,  iv,  34-6. 
Stout  Hercules,  the  mirrour  of  the  world, 
Sonne  to  Alcmena  and  great  lupiter. 
After  so  many  conquests  wonne  in  field. 
After  so  many  monsters  queld  by  force, 
Yeelded  his  valiant  heart  to  Omphale. 

Locrine,  IV,  ProL,  3-7. 


1  Cf.  p.  20 . 

2  Greene's  Works,  Huth  Library,  Vol.  6,  p.  89.  Arber's  Reprint  of  Mena- 
phon, p.  56.  Noted  by  Collins,  The  Plays  and  Poems  of  Robert  Greene.  T 
p.  67,  note. 


LOCRINE    AND    SELIMUS  27 

Now  sit  I  like  the  might  ie  god  of  war  re. 
When,  armed  with  his  coat  of  Adament 

Locrine,  III.,  iv.,  6-7. 

Now  sit  I  like  the  arm-strong  son  of  Jove, 
When,  after  he  had  all  his  monsters  quelVd 
He  was  receiv'd  in  heaven  'mongst  the  gods, 
And  had  fair  Hebe  for  his  lovely  bride. 

Selimus,  1668-71. 

The  perfectly  natural  inference  to  be  drawn  from 
an  examination  of  these  passages  is,  I  maintain, 
that  the  author  of  Locrine  borrowed  from  Greene, 
amplified  the  material  borrowed,  and  passed  some 
of  it  on  to  Selimus.  It  is,  I  believe,  absolutely  un- 
reasonable to  infer  that  the  author  of  Locrine  de- 
veloped his  lines  from  the  suggestions  contained 
in  the  passage  from  Selimus. 

From  the  evidence  that  has  been  gathered  from 
an  examination  of  the  parallel  comic  scenes  of  the 
plays,  the  borrowings  from  Spenser's  Complaints, 
and  the  borrowing  from  Greene  just  considered, 
we  may  maintain  that  Locrine  is  earlier  than 
Selimus,  and  that,  in  the  case  of  other  parallel 
passages,  Selimus  has  copied  Locrine.  Space  will 
not  permit  the  exhibition  of  the  full  extent  of  this 
copying;  I  give  a  few  examples  for  illustration; 
others  may  be  found  in  Crawford,  pp.  52-58, 
Koeppel,  Jahrbuch,  XLI,  pp.  194-7,  Collins  The 
Plays  and   Poems  of  Robert  Greene,   I,  pp.  64-66. 

Where  I  may  damne,  condemne,  and  ban  my  fill 
And  vtter  curses  to  the  concaue  skie, 
Which  mav  infect  the  aiery  regions. 

Log.  hi,  vi,  8-11. 


28  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Now  Bajazet  will  ban  another  while, 
And  utter  curses  to  the  concave  sky 
Which  may  infect  the  regions  of  the  air. 

Sel.  1800-2. 

And  but  thou  better  vse  thy  bragging  blade, 
Then  thou  doest  rule  thy  ouerflowing  toong, 
Superbious  Brittaine,  thou  shalt  know  too  soone 

Loc.  II,  iv,  23-25. 
But  thou  canst  better  use  thy  bragging  blade, 
Than  thou  canst  rule  thy  overflowing  tongue. 
Soon  shalt  thou  know  that  Selim's  mightv  arm 

Sel.  2467-69. 

Whose  only  lookes  did  scarre  his  enemies 

Loc.  I,  Prol.  17. 
Whose  only  name  affrights  your  enemies 

Sel.  185. 

Our  discussion  thus  far  has  been  chiefly  con- 
cerned with  parallels  between  Locrine  and 
Selimus,  but  we  have  had  occasion  to  point  out 
parallels  between  the  former  play  and  other  works 
certainly  of  earlier  date.^  To  these  may  be  added 
parallels  with  Greene's  Anatomy  of  Fortune  (1584), 
The  Spanish  Tragedy  (1585-87?),  and  Tamburlaine 
(1587?)  Parallels  have  also  been  found  with  other 
plays  of  uncertain  date,  Marlowe's  Massacre  at 
Paris  and  Dido,  Greene's  Alphonsus  of  Arragon, 
Peele's  Battle  of  Alcazar,  Lodge's  Wounds  of  Civil 
War,  and  The  Tragedy  of  Tancred  and  Gismunda. 

Can,  now,  these  parallel  passages  help  us  in  any 
way  to  determine  the  date  of  Locrine"!  I  believe 
that  they  can  to  some  extent,  but  the  result  is  not 
so  deflnite  as  one  could  wish.  Among  the  many 
passages  borrowed  from  Spenser's  Complaints  are 

1  See  p.  20,  p.  23. 


LOCRINE    AND    SELIMUS  29 

these  two  lines  from  The  Ruines  of  Time,  11.  568-9.^ 

But  what  can  long  abide  above  this  ground 
In  state  of  bUs,  or  stedfast  happinesse? 

In  this  poem^  Spenser  refers  by  name  to  Wat- 
son's Meliboeus,^  an  eclogue  written  on  the  death 
of  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  who  died  April  6,  1590. 
The  Complaints  was  entered  in  the  Stationers'  Reg- 
ister December  29,  1590.  Hence  The  Ruines  of 
Time  must  have  been  written  between  April  6  and 
December  29,  1590.  Locrine,  which  borrows  from 
it,  cannot,  then,  be  earlier  than  April  6,  1590.  This 
point  was  first  made,  I  believe,  by  W.  S.  Gaud  in 
Modern  Philology,  I,  p.  409.  But  we  can  go  one 
step  further.  Locrine,  V,  iv,  242,  has  this  line, 

One  mischiefe  followes  on  another's  necke,^ 

which  is  parallel  to  a  line  of  Tancred  and  Gismunda, 

One  mischief  brings  another  on  his  neck.^ 

The  Tragedy  of  Tancred  and  Gismunda  is  founded 
on  the  old  play  Gismond  of  Salem  in  Love,^  which 
was  performed  in  1568.  This  old  play  was  not 
printed,  but  in  1591  Robert  Wilmot  rewrote  it  in 
blank  verse,  making  many  changes  and  additions. 
One  of  the  lines  added  is  that  borrowed  hy Locrine, 
Prefixed    to    Wilmot's    play    is    a    commendatory 

1  Locrine,  I,  Prol.  19-20. 
2 1.  436. 

*  Arber's  Reprints,  Vol,  IX. 

*  Text  omits  on. 

5  Dodsley-Hazlitt,  Old  English  Plays,  VII,  p.  93. 

^  Printed  by  Brandl  in  Quellen  des  Weltlichen  Dramas  in  England  vor 
Shakespeare,  pp.  539-595. 


30  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

letter  from  William  Webbe,  dated  August  8,  1591.^ 
Locrine,  then,  must  be  later  than  this  date.  Fur- 
ther than  this  we  do  not  seem  able  to  go  at  present. 
We  have  considered  above  parallels  between 
Selimus  and  Locrine.  Crawford^  has  pointed  out 
many  between  Selimus  and  the  plays  of  Marlowe, 
especially  Tamburlaine;  he  concludes  from  the 
evidence  that  Selimus  is  an  early  work  of  Marlowe. 
Grosart^  has  found  parallels  between  this  play  and 
the  works  of  Greene.  I  have  noted  some  with 
Lodge's  Wounds  of  Civil  War,  and  The  True 
Chronicle  Historic  of  King  Leir.  It  has  been  shown 
that  Selimus  like  Locrine  borrows  from  many 
works;  the  two  plays  seem  to  stand  in  a  class  by 
themselves  in  this  wholesale  appropriation  of 
other  men's  work.  May  they  not,  then,  be  works  of 
the  same  author?  Nearly  all  the  evidence  is  against 
such  a  conclusion.  While  the  two  plays  have  this 
characteristic  of  large  handed  borrowing  and  have 
many  lines  in  common,  they  are  so  absolutely  dif- 
ferent in  every  other  characteristic  that  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  conceive  them  to  be  the  works  of  one 
author.^  The  only  one,  I  believe,  who  has  main- 
tained the  theory  of  common  authorship  is  J.  C. 
Collins,  who  says,  "I  maintain  then  that,  if  the 
question  is  to  be  argued  on  such  evidence  as  is 
now  attainable,  the    presumption   is  in  favour  of 


1  Dodsley-Hazlitt,  Old  English  Plays,  VII,  13. 

2  pp.  69-85. 

3  The  Temple  Dramatists,  Selimus,  Preface,  XII-XX. 

*  Crawford,  p.  66,  rejects  the  theory  of  common  authorship,  on  the  ground 
that  Locrine  has  nothing  from  The  Faerie  Queene,  from  which  Selimus 
takes  much. 


LOCRINE    AND    SELIMUS  31 

the  author  of  Selimus  having  been  the  author  of 
Locrine;  the  two  plays  must  stand  or  fall  together."^ 
On  the  evidence  of  borrowed  passages  we  have 
been  able  to  find  out  a  little  concerning  the  date  of 
Locrine;  we  may  now  proceed  to  consider  whether 
we  can  get  any  light  on  the  question  of  the  author- 
ship of  these  plays  from  the  evidence  of  parallel 
passages.  I  have  noted  earlier  in  this  paper^  the 
great  difTiculty  of  determining  any  general  char- 
acteristics of  style  for  the  dramatic  work  of  any 
one  of  the  predecessors  of  Shakespeare  (Marlowe  is, 
to  a  certain  extent,  an  exception).  It  will,  there- 
fore, be  very  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  trace 
any  such  general  characteristics  of  style  in  anony- 
mous plays;  for  example,  to  find  traces  of  Greene's 
style  in  Selimus.  We  may,  perhaps,  say  that  the 
style  of  parts  of  Locrine  and  Selimus  is  like  the 
style  of  Tamburlaine,  but  this  is  very  different 
from  showing  that  it  is  like  the  style  of  Marlowe. 
If,  now,  we  use  the  evidence  of  parallel  passages  in 
the  cases  of  Locrine  and  Selimus,  we  shall  surely 
arrive  at  no  certain  results.  These  plays  have  bor- 
rowed so  much  from  so  many  sources,  that,  on 
the  evidence  of  parallel  passages,  they  can  be  as- 
signed to  almost  any  of  the  predecessors  of  Shake- 
speare. And  this  is  just  what  has  happened. 
Locrine  has  been  assigned  to  Marlowe,^    Greene,^ 


^  The  Plays  and  Poems  of  Robert  Greene,  /,  67. 

2  See  p.  15. 

3  Steevens,    Supplement   to   Johnson    and    Steevens'  edition    of   Shake- 
speare's Plays,  1780,  Vol.  11,  pp.  189  ff. 

^  Crawford,  p.  85. 


32  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Peele,^  and  Kyd^;  J.  M.  Robertson  divides  it  be- 
tween Greene  and  Peele.^  Selimus  has  met  a  similar 
fate.  Grosart^  has  tried  to  prove  it  to  be  the  work 
of  Greene,  but  his  conclusion  has  not  been  gener- 
ally accepted.  Crawford,  using  the  evidence  of 
parallels,  proves,  to  his  own  satisfaction,  that  it  is 
an  early  work  of  Marlowe,  his  first  attempt  at  a 
Tamburlaine  play.  No  one  else  seems  to  have  ac- 
cepted his  conclusion. 

The  method  of  proof  from  parallel  passages  has 
been  used  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  by  almost  all 
those  who  have  discussed  the  very  vexed  question 
of  the  authorship  of  The  First  Part  of  the  Conten- 
tion and  The  True  Tragedie  of  Richard  Duke  of 
Yorke  and  the  relation  of  these  plays  respectively 
to  the  Second  and  Third  Parts  of  Henry  VI,  Mar- 
lowe, Greene,  Peele,  and  Shakespeare,  single  or 
mixed  in  various  proportions,  appear  in  the  re- 
sults obtained  by  the  different  investigators. 

In  considering  the  evidence  of  parallel  passages 
the  assumption  is  generally  made  that  such  pas- 
sages indicate  common  authorship  of  the  plays  in 
which  they  are  found.  I  believe  that  our  study  of 
Locrine  and  Selimus  shows  that  such  passages  are 
much  more  likely  to  show  authorship  by  different 
men.  For  example,  if  we  fmd  a  line  of  Tambur- 
laine in  The  First  Part  of  the  Contention,  this  is 
not  so  likely  to  be  evidence  that  Marlowe  wrote 
The  First  Part  of  the  Contention,  or  part  of  it,  as  it 

1  W.  S.  Gaud,  Modern  Philology,  I,  409,  ff. 

2  Moorman,  Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature,  V,  268. 
^  Did  Shakespeare  write  "Titus  Andronicus,"  p.  99. 

^  Huth  Library,  Greene's  Works.    Temple  Dramatists,  Selimus. 


LOCRINE    AND    SELIMUS  33 

is  to  be  evidence  that  the  author  of  that  play  ap- 
propriated a  line  of  Tamburlaine. 

Another  view  of  the  matter  is  disclosed  when  we 
consider  passages  common  to  several  plays.  Too 
little  material  of  this  sort  has  yet  been  collected 
to  afford  any  basis  for  a  study.  A  few  examples 
may,  perhaps,  illustrate  the  manner  in  which  ma- 
terial is  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  and  changed 
as  it  goes;  they  may,  too,  be  suggestive  of  the  possi- 
bilities that  lie  in  the  study  of  a  large  amount  of 
such  material  from  a  given  period. 

When  she  that  rules  in  Rhamnis  golden  gates 

I.   Tamburlaine,  II,  iii,  635^. 
If  she  that  rules  faire  Rhamnis  golden  gate 

Locrine,  II,  i,  20. 
Chief  patroness  of  Rhamus'  golden  gate 

Selimus,  682. 

0  thou  that  rulest  in  Ramnis  golden  gate 

Watson,  Tears  of  Fancie,  Sonnet  42. 
That  onely  luno  rules  in  Rhamnuse  towne 

Dido  III,  ii,  830. 

1  hold  the  Fates  bound   fast  in  yron  chaines. 
And  with  my  hand  turn  Fortune's  wheel  about 

I  Tamburlaine  I,  ii,  369-70. 
I  clap  vp  Fortune  in  a  cage  of  gold 
To  make  her  turn  her  wheele  as  I  thinke  best 

Alphonsus  of  Arragon,  IV,  iii,  1480-81.^ 
Pompey,  the  man  that  made  the  world  to  stoop. 
And  fetter'd  fortune  in  the  chains  of  power. 

Wounds  of  Civil  War,  p.  194.3 
Leades  fortune  tied  in  a  chaine  of  gold 

Locrine,  II,  i,  15. 
Thou  hast  not  Fortune  tied  in  a  chain 

Selimus,  2420. 


1  The  Works  of  Christopher  Marlowe,  edited  by  G.  F.  Tucker  Brooke, 
Oxford,  1910. 

2  Collins,  The  Plays  and  Poems  of  Robert  Greene. 

3  Dodsley-Hazlitt,  Old  English  Plays,  VII. 

S— 3. 


34  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

For  there  [at  the  sword's  point]  sits  death,  there  sits  im- 
perious death, 
Keeping  his  circuit  bv  the  slicing  edge 

I  Tamburlaine  V.  ii,  1892-3 
Upon  my  sword's  sharp  point  standeth  pale  Death 

Selimus,  665. 
And  more:     see  here  the  dangerous  trote  of  war, 
That  at  the  point  is  steel'd  with  ghastly  death 

Wounds  of  Civil  War,  p.  155. 
For  Nemesis,  the  mistresse  of  reuenge, 
Sits  arm'd  at  all  points  on  our  dismall  blades 

Locrine,  V,  ii,  45-6. 
For  angry  Nemesis  sits  on  my  sword  to  be  reuenged 

Orlando  Furioso,  V,  ii,  1380. 

Or  I  will  make  him  hop  without  a  head 

Chronicle  History  of  King  Leir,  p.  342,  1.  5^ 
He  hops  without  his  head  and  rests  among  his  fellow  rebels. 
True  Tragedy  of  Richard  III,  p.  103,  1.  3.^ 
Vnlesse  you  headlesse  mean  to  hoppe  away 

James  IV,  II,  ii,  1028. 
Fde  reach  to'  th'  Crowne,  or  make  some  hop  headlesse 

First  Part  of  the  Contention  (1619)^. 
Or  ile  make  them  hop  without  their  crownes,  that  denies  me 

True  Tragedy  of  Richard  III,  p  64,  1.  6. 
Then  let  their  Selim  hop  without  the  crown. 

Selimus,  104. 

Will  Fortune  favour  me  yet  once  again? 
And  will  she  thrust  the  cards  into  my  hands? 
Well,  if  I  chance  but  once  to  get  the  deck. 
To  deal  about  and  shuffle  as  I  w^ould; 
Let  Selim  never  see  the  daylight  spring. 
Unless  I  shuffle  out  myself  a  King. 

Selimus,  1538-43^ 


^  Hazlitt,  Shakespeare's  Library,  Part  II,  Vol.  II. 
2  Hazlitt,  Shakespeare's  Library,  Part  II,  Vol.  I, 

•  Praetorius  Facsimile,  p.  9.  Hazlitt,  Shakespeare's  Library,  Part  II, 
Vol.  I,  p.  423,  note. 

*  Crawford,  p.  91,  notes  the  parallel  between  Selimus  and  Massacre  at 
Paris,  C.  F.  Tucker  Brooke  that  between  Massacre  at  Paris  and  True 
Tragedy.  See  Trans.  Connecticut  Acad.  Arts  and  Sciences,  17,  168  (July, 
1912). 


LOCRINE    AND    SELIMUS  35 

Then  Guise, 

Since  thou  hast  all  the  Gardes  within  thy  hands, 
To  shuffle  or  cut,  take  this  as  surest  thing: 
That  right  or  wrong,  thou  deale  thy  selfe  a  King. 

Massacre  at  Paris,  11  145-8. 
Alasse  that  Warwike  had  no  more  foresight. 
But  whilst  he  sought  to  steale  the  single  ten. 
The  King  was  finelie  fingerd  from  the  decke. 

True  Tragedy  of  Richard  Duke  of  Yorke,  p.  87,  11  20-22^. 

An  exhaustive  collection  and  careful  collation  of 
such  material  would,  I  am  confident,  throw  much 
light  on  the  difficult  problems  of  chronology  and 
authorship  in  the  history  of  the  English  drama 
from   1585  to   1595. 


^  Hazlitt,  Shakespeare's  Library,  Part  II,  Vol.  II. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  PATHOS 
J.  F.  A.  Pyre 

One  of  the  pre-requisites  to  a  sound  philosophy 
of  Shakespeare  is  a  correct  valuation  of  his  appeals  to 
sympathy.  A  dramatist  is  singularly  liable  to  "short 
circuits"  in  his  lines  of  communication.  He  must 
reckon  on  a  considerable  factor  of  variability  when 
reckoning  how  an  audience  will  react  to  present- 
ments of  human  character,  situation,  and  passion 
and  to  many  necessarily  uncommented  juxtaposi- 
tions of  the  same.  Doubtless  there  is  a  slighter 
leakage  in  Shakespeare  than  in  most  dramatists. 
He  understood  human  nature  in  the  audience  form 
as  in  others,  and  he  understood  the  dramatic 
strokes  by  which  an  audience  is  kept  alive  and 
scored  upon.  In  this  unerringness  of  Shakespeare 
liesone  secret  of  his  power  and  lastingness.  Never- 
theless, that  even  Shakespeare  was  not  entirely 
wanting  in  a  humane  capacity  for  making  himself 
misunderstood,  criticism  bears  copious  witness.  It 
is  not  merely  that  every  generation  starts  out 
afresh  to  find  phrases  which  content  it  for  impres- 
sions that,  ever  afresh,  "break  through  language 
and  escape."  The  difficulty  is,  we  cannot  easily 
satisfy  ourselves  that  the  right  impression  itself 
has   not   eluded    us.     Thus,    the   chase    after   the 

[36] 


Shakespeare's  pathos  37 

Shakespearean  intention  has  the  inexhaustible  zest 
of  life  itself. 

Three  centuries  have  not  glided  by  without 
some  erosions  of  human  sympathy.  The  modern 
reader,  depending  for  his  comprehension  of  the 
Shakespearean  drama  upon  a  printed  text  of  dub- 
ious sanction,  supplemented,  to  be  sure,  by  some 
stage  tradition, — but  this  with  slight  claim  to  authen- 
ticity and  much  of  it  erroneous  or  degraded, — 
finds  himself  at  several  removes  from  his  author. 
Special  intellectual  curiosities  can  be  distinguished 
with  reasonable  definiteness  and  allowed  for  or 
sympathetically  entered  into.  A  few  topical  hints 
no  doubt  evade  us,  though  Shakespeare's  mind 
was  of  that  high  order  which  is  sensitive  to  the 
vulgarity  of  near  allusion  and  seldom  stoops  to 
a  mere  topical  hit  when  "some  necessary  business 
of  the  play"  is  to  be  considered.  Changes  in  taste 
and  morals  are  more  important  and  more  difficult 
to  cope  with;  but  the  clash  of  standards  can  usu- 
ally be  mitigated  by  a  slight  imaginative  adjust- 
ment. Prince  Hal's  black-guardisms,  practical 
jokes,  and  yearnings  after  "that  poor  creature, 
small  beer",  Falstalf's  grosser  peccadilloes  and 
Sir  Toby's  unconscionable  carousings,  need  not 
give  us,  precisely,  Mid-Victorian  qualms.  Most 
of  us  will  not  permit  anachronistic  sentimentalism 
to  betray  us  into  maudlin  sympathy  with  a  reviled 
and  defeated  Israelite  and  money-lender;  we  will 
rejoice  boldly  in  the  triumph  of  Portia's  wits  and 
the  release  of  the  wealthy  and  elegant  Antonio. 
But  we  enter  a  doubtful  zone.     We  may  experience 


38  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

only  the  requisite  ruefulness  in  contemplating  Sir 
Toby's  bloody  coxcomb,  yet  feel  ourselves  emo- 
tionally insecure  in  the  presence  of  Elizabethan 
portrayals  of  madmen  and  ghosts.  Of  Bassanio's 
borrowed  plumes  and  his  fortune-hunt  over  against 
Belmont,  of  Valentine's  cool  proposal  to  toss  Sylvia 
to  the  precious  Proteus,  of  Julia's  complaisance 
toward  the  same  being  and  of  Hero's  toward  the 
"young  cub"  who  has  despitefully  used  her,  of 
the  heartless  baiting  of  Malvolio,  of  Prospero's 
cruelty  to  Caliban,  Hamlet's  to  Ophelia,  of  Helena's 
device  for  binding  a  husband  and  of  Isabella's 
surrender  to  one,  what  are  we  to  think?  Or  rather, 
what  are  we  expected  to  feel? 

Thus  we  come  gradually  into  a  realm  of  imagi- 
native predilection  and  moral  prejudice  where  the 
placement  of  sympathy  among  blended  emotional 
values  is  a  delicate  matter.  Yet  in  a  moral  world 
like  that  created  by  Shakespeare's  art,  accuracy 
of  discernment  is  of  the  utmost  importance.  A 
slight  error  near  the  center  projects  us  along  some 
radial  interpretation  to  a  peripheral  conclusion  far 
wide  of  the  mark.  Now,  there  are,  in  Shakespeare, 
for  all  his  variety  and  so-called  objectivity,  a  good 
many  habitual  modes  of  feeling,  and  he  developed 
a  sure  instinct  for  the  dramatic  means  by  which 
to  reach  the  consciousness  and  take  firm  and  last- 
ing hold  on  the  sympathies  of  his  audience.  It  is 
mainly  by  sensing  these — his  habitual  modes  of 
feeling  and  his  habitual  devices  for  kindling  sym- 
pathy— that  the  student  of  Shakespeare  learns 
to  feel  his  way  about  in  the  plays  and  becomes 


Shakespeare's  pathos  39 

more  and  more  confident  as  to  his  author's  in- 
tention in  any  given  case.  One  of  these  fields  of 
Shakespeare's  habit  and  practice  it  is  the  object 
of  this  paper  to  explore,  not  merely  because  the 
exercise  is  amusing  in  itself,  but  because,  even 
when  dealing  with  phenomena  so  elusive  as  emo- 
tional values  and  shades  of  artistic  effect,  there 
is  an  advantage  to  be  derived  from  bringing  to- 
gether, for  comparison  and  arrangement,  all  the 
specimens  of  a  group. 

Shakespeare's  pathos  is  one  of  the  ground  tones 
of  his  passionate  genius,  like  his  humour,  his  pure 
joyousness,  his  serene  exaltation,  his  voluptuous 
melancholy,  his  sense  of  thrilling  excitement,  his 
stirring  heroic  strenuosity,  his  sense  of  weirdness 
and  mystery,  his  romance,  his  imperious  tragic 
grandeur.  Such  a  list  of  qualities  is  perhaps  not 
strictly  categorical.  It  merely  enumerates  some 
of  the  dominant  Shakespearean  moods  and  might 
be  measurably  condensed  or  enlarged,  at  will. 
It  has  a  different  basis  from  the  scheme  of  the 
elementary  passions  as  they  are  ordinarily  classi- 
fied. Possibly  no  two  men  would  exactly  coincide 
in  their  analysis  or  their  characterization  of  phe- 
nomena which  are  so  complex  and  in  which  sub- 
jective elements  play  so  large  a  part.  At  the 
same  time,  there  will  be  a  fair  agreement  among 
educated  persons  as  to  the  general  effect  produced 
by  an  exhibition  of  the  passions  in  any  given  case. 
Representations  of  the  passions  may  excite  in  us 
their  like,  but  not  necessarily  so;  the  same  ele- 
mentary passions  make  very  different  appeals  ac- 


40  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

cording  to  the  conditions  under  which  their  effects 
are  shown.  The  passion  of  fear,  so  terrible  in 
Macbeth,  is  ludicrous  in  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek, 
is  both  comical  and  prettily  pathetic  in  Viola,  and 
passes  into  the  realm  of  supernatural  awe  in  the 
ghost  scenes  of  Hamlet,  with  a  varied  key  for  each 
character  that  encounters  the  dreaded  sight.  Clear- 
ly the  passions  are  only  working  colors  of  the 
dramatist  and  their  emotional  appeal  depends 
upon  the  manner  in  which  they  are  blended  with 
one  another  and  the  objects  to  which  they  are 
applied.  We  may  be  amused  by  an  exhibition 
of  anger  or  roused  to  an  emotion  resembling  anger 
by  an  exhibition  of  levity;  we  may  be  frightened 
or  appalled  by  a  powerful  presentment  of  rage, 
or  we  may  be  kindled  to  indignation  or  scorn  by 
a  dastardly  exhibition  of  fear.  The  sight  of  grief 
begets  in  us,  not  a  precise  imitation  of  the  passion 
but  a  modified  form  of  it  which  we  call  pity,  and 
the  nature  and  intensity  of  our  sorrow  is  deter- 
mined by  the  character  of  our  sympathy.  The 
amenities  of  art  require,  moreover,  that  the  emo- 
tions awakened  by  such  representations  shall  be 
of  such  nature  and  intensity  only  as  make  for  a 
generally  pleasurable  result,  and  this  is  effected 
through  the  capacity  of  the  representation  to 
awaken  sentiment  in  us:  that  is,  emotionally  modi- 
fied thought  or  fancy  whereby  we  are  guided  to  a 
perception  of  the  causes  and  relations  of  things, 
their  meaning,  fitness,  and  proportion,  mingled 
with  a  sense  of  the  adequacy  or  beauty  of  the 
representation. 


Shakespeare's  pathos  41 

Passion,  like  action,  awakens  emotion  partly 
through  its  revelation  of  character,  and  our  re- 
sponse is  regulated  by  our  sympathy  or  antipathy 
toward  the  character  our  conception  of  which  it 
augments.  We  are  further  excited  by  passion  on 
account  of  its  bearing,  through  character,  on  fate; 
we  feel  in  it  an  immediate  or  a  potential  force 
which  may  influence  the  fate,  either  of  the  char- 
acter in  whom  it  is  exhibited  or  of  other  characters 
in  whose  fate  we  are  interested.  Such,  in  part, 
is  our  state  of  mind  while  witnessing  the  intem- 
perate outbursts  of  Lear  in  his  first  scene,'  the 
overwrought  transports  of  Othello  when  reunited 
with  his  wife  in  Cyprus,  the  first  ecstasies  of  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  the  abnormal  melancholy  of  Hamlet, 
or  Lady  Macbeth's  devouring  ambition.  In  one 
respect,  all  these  violent  moods  thrill  us  to  admira- 
tion, exalting  our  sense  of  the  powers  of  the  human 
soul;  but,  also,  they  alarm  us;  they  are  ''too  like 
the  lightning";  we  feel  them  to  be  charged  with 
fatal  potentialities.  Action  in  turn  excites  us, 
not  only  because  of  its  immediate  occasion  for 
the  expression  of  human  nature,  that  is,  for  demon- 
strations of  passion  and  revelations  of  character, 
but,  likewise,  because  of  "some  consequence  yet 
hanging  in  the  stars"  which  may  produce  joy  or 
suffering  in  the  actor  himself  or  in  the  persons 
acted  upon.  We  respond  to  representations  of 
passion,  therefore,  first,  as  excitants,  through  sug- 
gestion and  sympathy,  of  similar,  but  agreeable, 
activities  in  ourselves;  second,  as  revelations  of 
character;  third,  as  consequences  of  previous  ac- 


42  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

tion  or  as  sources  of  further  trains  of  action  which 
may,  in  turn,  produce  further  consequences,  to- 
gether with  new^  manifestations  of  passion  and  new 
revelations  of  character.  In  a  work  of  representa- 
tive art,  in  drama  especially,  all  these  dynamic 
elements  are  ultimately  resolved  into  a  static 
condition  of  feeling  in  which  we  receive,  not  the 
impact  of  the  final  scene  alone,  but  in  which  the 
imagination  turns  backward  upon  its  series  of 
experiences  and  the  whole  related  scheme  of  pas- 
sion, character,  act,  and  consequence,  streams 
through  us  like  the  related  notes  of  a  musical 
chord,  leaving  us,  thoughtful,  hushed,  impressed, 
appalled,  warmed,  delighted,  touched,  refreshed, 
envigorated,  exalted,  or  in  some  similarly  stilled 
and  passive  mood  of  unified  but  unvolitional  ex- 
citement, according  to  the  nature  and  intensity 
of  the  representation. 

The  "pathetic"  mood,  then,  is  one  of  the  general 
modes  of  feeling,  or  complex  states  of  emotion 
awakened  by  representative  art,  and  "pathos" 
is  a  quality  of  the  representation  by  which  this 
effect  is  produced.  The  attempt  to  set  metes  and 
bounds  to  a  field  of  emotion  where  all  terms  are 
variable  and  many  of  them  imply  the  others  may 
seem  a  foolhardy  undertaking;  and  yet  some  fur- 
ther discrimination  seems  necessary.  The  most 
obvious  process  of  pathos  is  the  awakening  of 
sympathy  for  suffering  or  misfortune,  the  emotion 
which  we  call  pity.  But  pity  itself  is  a  consti- 
tuent of  numerous  moods  not  all  of  which  possess 
the  quality  of  pathos.     In  popular  usage  there  is 


Shakespeare's  pathos  43 

a  tendency  to  attend  exclusively  to  the  pitiful 
element  in  pathos  so  that  almost  any  misfortune 
which  awakens  emotion  will  be  referred  to  as 
"pathetic",  especially  if  the  sense  of  it  be  shar- 
pened by  some  irony  of  circumstance  or  associa- 
tion. This  is  plainly  undiscriminating.  The  ef- 
fect of  pathos  is  most  frequently  obtained  through 
an  appeal  to  the  sense  of  misfortune  combined 
with  a  further  stirring  of  tender  sentiment  through 
the  coincident  revelation  of  some  gracious  or  ad- 
mirable trait  in  the  object  of  compassion.  By 
these  means  there  is  produced  a  commingling  of 
warm  and  sympathetic  emotions  which  is  extremely 
pleasurable,  is  allied  to  the  passive  side  of  our 
natures  and  is  the  effect  of  what  we  call  ''pathos". 
The  quality  of  a  pathos  depends  upon  the  pro- 
portions in  which  are  mingled  the  elements  of  pity, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  of  other  tender  emotions  such 
as  affection,  gratitude,  admiration,  or  joy,  on  the 
other.  An  example  of  the  interoperation  of  pity, 
admiration,  and  affection,  is  well  delineated  in 
Othello's  analysis  of  the  witchcraft  by  which  he 
won  Desdemona,  ending 

She  loved  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  passed 
And  I  loved  her  that  she  did  pity  them. 

And  yet,  despite  the  touching  elements  in  it, 
Othello's  story  of  his  wooing  is  not  pathetic,  for 
we  have  yet  to  reckon  with  his  dignity  of  manner 
which  carries  the  entire  recital  out  of  the  domain 
of  pathos  and  this,  it  should  be  noted,  is  in  accord 
with  Othello's  main  purpose  as  an  orator,  which 


44  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

is,  not  to  touch  merely,  but  to  convince.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  some  cases  of  true  pathos,  the  ele- 
ment of  compassion  is  so  slight  that  the  emotion 
appears  to  depend  upon  a  response  to  beauty 
or  admirableness  , alone, — or  even  to  joy  itself. 
Ruskin  somewhere  describes  a  natural  landscape 
as  possessing  "pathetic  beauty."  It  is  doubtful, 
however,  if  beauty  or  joy  are  ever  truly  pathetic 
save  through  some  (however  delicate)  arriere  pensee 
of  their  transiency,  helplessness,  insecurity,  or 
the  like;  as  of  "beauty  whose  action  is  no  stronger 
than  a  flower",  and  "joy  whose  hand  is  ever  at 
his  lips,  bidding  adieu".  Pathos  may  arise  from  a 
sense  of  contrast  between  present  joy  and  fore^ 
gone  hardship,  suffering,  or  peril.  In  these  last 
cases,  of  course,  th^  emotion  of  pity  is  deflected 
from  the  present,  to  a  past,  or  an  imagined  con- 
dition, and  the  two  emotions,  of  joy  in  the  present 
happiness,  and  of  pity  for  the  contrasted  condition, 
coalesce  to  produce  a  pathetic  mood  in  which  a 
feeling  akin  to  gratitude  is  predominant.  The 
converse  of  this  situation  is  too  commonplace  to 
require  analysis. 

All  of  these  conditions  of  sentiment,  it  will  be 
readily  seen,  if  they  become  habitual  or  consti- 
tutional, or  if  they  be  too  little  relieved  by  the 
brighter  emotions,  will  be  depressed  to  the  mood 
which  we  call  melancholy.  Pathos  and  melan- 
choly are  adjacent,  therefore,  but  not  identical. 
They  may  even  coalesce;  but  they  are,  in  most 
cases,  easily  distinguishable.  There  is  a  rich  vein 
of  melancholy  in  Shakespeare;  but  his  pathos  is 


Shakespeare's  pathos  45 

not,  usually,  an  outgrowth  of  his  melancholy; 
rather  is  his  melancholy  a  deepening  of  his  pathos. 
Shakespeare's  pathos,^  and  it  may  be  added  his 
melancholy  also,  lies  quite  close  to  his  humour; 
and  the  reason  for  this  is  manifest  when  we  en- 
quire into  the  nature  of  both.  Since  his  pathos 
consists  largely  in  a  conflict  of  agreeable  and  pain- 
ful emotions,  a  slight  change  in  texture  may  readily 
give  us,  instead  of  a  pathos  enlivened  by  humour, 
a  humour  sweetened  with  pathos. 

One  further  important  distinction  remains  to  be 
made;  but,  as  it  has  been  often  discussed  elsewhere, 
it  may  be  briefly  disposed  of  here.  This  is  the 
distinction  between  the  pathetic  and  the  sublime. 
Shakespearean  commeatators  not  infrequently  re- 
fer to  the  pathos  of  his  great  tragic  scenes,  and 
although  this  is  not  necessarily  wrong,  it  can  easily 
be  misleading.  Of  course,  no  one  with  an  eye 
to  their  total  effect  would  think  of  applying  the 
term,  "pathetic"  to  the  finales  of  Lear,  Othello^ 
Hamlet,  or,  indeed,  of  any  of  the  tragedies.  The 
fact  is,  that  Shakespeare  never,  whether  in  comedy 
or  tragedy,  ends  in  the  pathetic  key, — a  point 
to  which  I  shall  return  later.  That  there  is  an 
admixture  of  compassion  in  these  great  scenes  is 
true;  but  the  passions  with  which  it  is  commingled 
are  so  agitating,  the  action  so  frantic,  the  conse- 
quences so  prodigious,  that  pity  is  smothered  up 
in  dismay.  At  the  very  end,  to  be  sure,  the  winds 
fall  and  cease,  and  the  waves  break  back  on  them- 
selves in  a  mighty  subsidence;  but  it  is  the  calm 
of  a  supreme  exaltation.     We  ourselves,  like  the 


46  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

hero  at  his  last  breath,  seem, to  be  snatched  up 
out  of  the  storm  and  the  struggle  which  roll  harm- 
lessly backward  below  us,  and  the  emotion  we 
feel, — if  emotion  that  mood  can  be  called  which 
consists  in  a  momentary  superiority  to  all  finite 
agitation, — is  "that  emotion  of  detachment  and 
liberation  in  which  the  sublime  really  consists".^ 
The  emotion  of  the  sublime  is  like  that  of  pathos 
in  that  in  both  cases  we  are  totally  passive;  but 
in  the  one  case,  our  passivity  is  that  of  a  breathless, 
almost  benumbing  contraction,  as  if  for  a  sudden 
spring;  the  passivity  of  the  pathetic  mood  is  re- 
laxed, unnerved,  deep  breathing,  as  of  the  languor 
which  precedes  contraction.  In  the  one  we  are 
close  to  the  infinite;  in  the  other,  we  feel  our  kinship 
with  mortality,  deliciously,  warm,  in  every  cell. 

Thus  far  we  have  been  concerned,  for  the  most 
part,  with  the  general  nature  of  pathos  as  a  quality 
of  dramatic  representation.  I  turn  now  to  a 
brief  consideration  of  the  particular  aspects  of 
human  life  with  which  the  Shakespearean  pathos 
is  most  frequently  associated.  It  would  be  tedious 
to  catalogue  methodically  all  of  the  "seven  ages 
of  man",  with  their  varieties  and  activities,  that 
appear  in  the  theater  of  Shakespeare;  it  will  be 
helpful  to  collect  into  somewhat  orderly  form 
such  few  of  life's  phenomena  as  have  especial 
significance  from  our  point  of  view,  and  so  regard 
them. 

i^The  stage  of  human  life   to  which  Shakespeare 
most  consistently  attaches  a  pathetic  significance 

1  Santayana,     The  Sense  of  Beauty,  p.  239. 


Shakespeare's  pathos  47 

is,  of  course,  childhood  and  early  youth.  The 
young  princes  in  Richard  III,  Arthur  in  King 
John,  Falstaff  s  page  in  Henry  IV  and  Henry  V, 
the  boy,  Lucius,  in  Julius  Caesar,  in  Macbeth,  the 
son  of  Macduff,  and  the  youth,  Fleance,  over 
whose  unconscious  head  a  royal  destiny  "broods 
like  the  day",  with  whose  escape  begins  the  fatal 
ravelling  of  Macbeth's  ill-wrought  ambition,  young 
Marcius  in  Coriolanus,  Mamillius  in  The  Winter's 
Tale,  and  Imogen's  brothers,  the  stolen  princes  of 
Cymbeline,  are  all  introduced  or  developed  in  some 
degree  for  pathetic  enhancement  of  the  scene, 
though  in  varying  degrees  connected  with  its 
motivation.  Of  the  same  character  are  the  earlier 
and  fainter  sketches  of  *'young  Talbot",  "pretty 
Rutland",  "young  Henry,  Earl  of  Richmond"  in 
the  Henry  VI  plays,  and  y(5ung  Lucius  in  Titus 
Andronicus.  All  of  these,  it  will  be  noticed,  are 
boys  and  nearly  all  are  ^instruments  of  comedy 
as  well  as  pathos,  having  about  them  a  pretty 
pertness  which  is  one  of  the  attractive  and  amusing, 
and  of  the  annoying,  traits  of  forward  childhood. 
How  well  Shakespeare  understood  the  principle 
that  life  is  not  exclusively  a  serio-solemn  business 
and  that  those  who  lay  hold  of  our  affections  do 
so,  in  part,  by  amusing  our  lighter  fancy,  not  by 
eternally  edifying,  these  childhood  sketches  clearly 
demonstrate.  Childhood,  by  its  innocence  and 
helplessness,  its  perilous  buddings  of  untimely 
spring,  its  physical  sweetness,  its  playfulness  of 
spirit,  and  its  invitation  to  the  mind  to  look  toward 
the  coming  years, — childhood,  when  it  meets  with 


48  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

misfortune,  suffering,  or  dissolution,  is  of  the  very 
essence  of  pathos.  To  the  examples  already  enum- 
erated some  would  doubtless  add  the  Fool  in  King 
Lear,  as  being  a  child  in  heart,  at  least,  if  notin 
years.  And,  finally,  Shakespeare's  awakenedness 
to  the  sympathetic  promptings  of  tender  years 
is  shown  by  his  exclusion  from  Othello  of  any  refer- 
ence to  the  child  of  lago  which  plays  so  striking 
a  part  in  Ginthio's  story,  and  by  the  almost  hectic 
charm  of  seeming  youthfulness  with  which  he 
invested  Romeo,  his  prince  of  lovers,  and  Hamlet, 
his  most  beloved  of  princes. 

Towards  old  age,  which,  in  an  opposite  way  to 
childhood,  walks  near  the  gates  of  life,  Shakespeare 
is  less  uniformly  tender.  He  is  no  less  disposed 
to  laugh  than  weep  over  the  fatuity  of  years  that 
bring  the  philosophizing  mind,  but  no  true  grasp 
of  life.  One  thinks  of  Polonius,  Falstaff,  and 
Shallow  and  of  such  doddering  old  lords  as  Mon- 
tague and  Capulet,  and  as  Leonato  and  his  brother 
Antonio  in  Much  Ado.  It  may  be  surprising  to 
find  Falstaff  in  this  list;  but  I  suppose,  notwith- 
standing his  creator's  and  our  delight  in  him,  Fal- 
staff, as  a  philosopher,  stands  confuted;  his  duel 
with  time  is  a  drawn  battle,  won  by  the  latter 
through  sheer  waiting.  There  are  numerous  ex- 
amples of  solitary  and  garrulous  age  in  the  plays 
totally  unconnected  with  their  motivation,  but 
introduced  for  picturesque  or  choric  effect, — de- 
tached and  wandering  fragments  of  humanity  that 
drift  across  the  scene  and  shake  their  feeble  heads. 
At  least   two   old   men,    Duncan   in   Macbeth   and 


Shakespeare's  pathos  -        49 

Adam  in  As  You  Like  It,  seem  to  have  been  specifi- 
cally drawn  for  pathetic  contrast.  There  are 
touches  of  the  same  quality  in  Titus  Andronicus, 
a  first  sketch  of  Lear,  and  in  Gymbeline.  In  the 
historical  plays,  the  subject  matter,  since  times 
succeed  to  times,  naturally  led  to  numerous  por- 
traits of  men  past  their  powers:  ''Old  John  of 
Gaunt"  and  York  in  Richard  II,  Gloucester  in 
Henry  VI,  and,  for  the  women,  the  Duchess  of 
York  in  Richard  III  and  the  Duchess  of  Gloucester 
in  Richard  II  are  early  examples  of  old  age  full  of 
sorrows  and  bitter  memories.  But  none  of  these 
are  precisely  pathetic;  they  are  too  much  in  mono- 
tone, and  they  appear  more  or  less  at  random 
in  the  scheme  of  emotional  values.  The  character 
of  Henry  IV  is  more  fully  wrought  and  the  failure 
of  life  in  him  is  consistently  drawn  out  to  a  specifi- 
cally pathetic  result.  The  dramatist's  growing 
deftness  in  the  handling  of  pathos  is  particularly 
shown  in  the  king's  occasional  flashes  of  his  old 
''efficiency".  It  remained  for  Shakespeare,  in 
midst  of  other  woe,  to  bring  home,  once  and  su- 
premely, the  pathos  of  age,  in  Lear. 

When  enumerating  the  sketches  of  youth  in  the 
plays,  I  silently  reserved  for  separate  mention 
Shakespeare's  heroines,  so  many  of  whom  seem 
just  emerging  from  girlhood,  and  so  many  of  whom, 
by  the  way,  give  us  enchanting  glimpses  of  boy- 
ishness through  the  chiaroscuro  of  their  own  im- 
personations. More  and  more,  as  he  went  for- 
ward, Shakespeare  seems  to  have  been  taught  to 
find  in  the  women  of  his  stories  the  staple  source 

S-4. 


50  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

of  his  pathos.  Shakespeare's  heroines  are  not  with- 
out initiative  and  courage;  indeed,  in  many  cases, 
these  are  among  their  most  distinctive  traits. 
But  therein  lies,  it  may  be  said,  much  of  their 
appealing  quality.  It  is  by  chance  of  these  neces- 
sities, in  contrast  to  the  conventional  helplessness 
of  their  position  and  the  passive  bent  of  their 
natures,  that  they  make  their  exceptional  claims 
on  our  admiration  and  our  sympathy.  Heroism 
is  inspiring  in  Shakespeare's  men;  it  is  touching 
in  his  women.  Their  own  gayety  under  hard 
conditions  makes  us  no  less  disposed  to  give  them 
our  hearts.  And  it  is  curious,  when  one  comes 
to  look  into  it  from  this  point  of  view,  how  large 
a  proportion  of  his  heroines  Shakespeare  has  placed 
at  some  especial  disadvantage  in  their  coping  with 
the  world  and  the  decision  vital  to  women.  Almost 
every  one  of  them  is  motherless,  and  somehow 
we  receive  the  intangible  impression  that  most  of 
them  have  long  been  so.  Juliet  alone  has  the 
full  complement  of  parents  and  both  of  these  are 
represented  as  intemperate  and  unsympathetic. 
Portia  and  Viola  are  orphans,  the  first  with  a 
legacy  of  wealth  encumbered  wdth  a  crotchety 
restriction,  the  second,  separated  by  shipwreck 
from  her  brother  and  penniless  on  a  strange  coast. 
Helena  in  All's  Wellis  newly  orphaned,  brotherless 
and  in  poverty.  Isabella  is  a  nun,  with  an  erring 
brother.  Perdita  and  Marina  are  castaways  and 
grow  to  maturity  among  strangers.  Rosalind 
follows  a  banished  father  into  forest  exile.  Imo- 
gen has  a  cruel  and  wicked  step-mother.    Jessica, 


Shakespeare's  pathos  51 

Hero,  Ophelia,  Desdemona,  and  Cordelia  are  all 
estranged  in  some  manner  from  their  far  from  fault- 
less fathers.  Only  Miranda  in  the  critical  moment 
of  life  has  the  guidance  of  a  wise  and  sympathetic 
parent.  That,  in  a  majority  of  cases,  the  special 
conditions  surrounding  the  Shakespearean  heroine 
exist  for  romantic  as  much  as  for  pathetic  toning 
and  for  the  purpose  of  placing  the  heroine  in  situa- 
tions favorable  to  dramatic  entanglement,  need 
hardly  be  said.  Nevertheless,  these  conditions 
are  favorable  to  pathetic  effect  in  proportion  to  the 
naturalism  of  the  treatment,  so  that,  in  most  of 
the  dramas  of  Shakespeare's  maturity,  even  when 
the  interest  is  lodged  primarily  among  the  male 
characters,  the  heroine  will  be  found  to  be  central 
to  his  main  scenes  of  pathos. 

Since  the  natural  affections  are  the  chief  sources 
of  pathetic  emotion,  there  is  a  sacrifice  of  materials 
involved  in  the  motherless  condition  of  the  Shakes- 
pearean heroine.  Considering  the  exhaustiveness 
with  which,  generally  speaking,  Shakespeare  cov- 
ered the  range  of  human  relations,  he  must  be  ad- 
mitted to  have  used  but  sparingly  the  motive  of 
mother  and  child.  Fatherhood  appears  in  full 
gamut,  but  motherhood,  especially  in  the  relation- 
ship of  mother  and  daughter,  is  almost,  though 
by  no  means  quite,  absent.  Possibly  acting  condi- 
tions were  partially  responsible  for  the  omission, 
though  this  explanation  would  seem  to  be  con- 
founded by  the  examples  which  the  plays  afford. 
Here  again,  as  in  the  case  of  old  age,  the  early 
histories  are  prolific  of  random  examples:  Margaret 


52  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

in  Henry  VI,  the  women  of  Richard  III,  the  Duch- 
ess of  York  in  Richard  II,  Constance  in  King 
John,  are  emphatic,  though  not  essentially  pathetic, 
portrayals  of  sorrowing  motherhood.  It  is  not 
until  the  very  latest  plays,  if  we  except  the  Count- 
ess in  AWs  Well,  and  Mistress  Page  in  the  Merry 
Wives,  both  of  whom  are  somewhat  brusquely 
motherly,  that  we  encounter  any  adequate  inter- 
pretations of  motherhood;  for  Hamlet's  mother  will 
hardly  be  accounted  an  exception  and  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  allusions  to  her  children  are  not  reassuring. 
But  Hermione  touches  us  notably,  as  Volumnia 
almost  entirely,  through  the  quality  of  her  mother- 
hood, and  the  effect,  in  both  cases,  is  that  of  a 
noble  pathos.  Katherine's  last  scene  in  Henry 
VIII  contains  some  touching  references  to  her 
children;  but  this  is  probably  in  Fletcher's  part 
of  the  play. 

The  insistence  of  the  plays  upon  the  relation  of 
father  and  daughter  has  been  indicated.  Of  the 
other  natural  bonds  I  will  not  pursue  all  the  in- 
stances, for  they  are  of  the  fullness  of  Shakespeare. 
The  bond  of  father  and  son,  of  brother  and  sister, 
of  husband  and  wife,  of  the  lover  and  the  beloved, 
of  kin  and  country,  of  friendship  and  old  acquaint- 
ance, in  all  degrees  between  men  and  between 
women,  the  affiliations  of  master  and  man,  of 
mistress  and  maid,  of  liege  lord  and  loving  sub- 
ject, these  natural  and  domestic  bonds  of  human 
society  furnish  the  bases  of  affections  and  of  en- 
dearing expressions,  in  act  or  word,  of  loyalty, 
admiration,   sacrifice,   gratitude,   and  forgiveness, 


Shakespeare's  pathos  53 

through  which  the  personages  of  Shakespeare's 
scene,  caught  in  a  quivering  but  gentle  net  of 
hours,  make  their  appeals  to  our  tender  sympathies, 
loosen  and  set  free  the  flow  of  our  sweetest  emo- 
tions. 

Since  in  the  least  restless  moments  of  life  the 
motions  of  the  heart  are  most  clearly  and  humanly 
felt. 

While  with  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power 
Of  harmony  and  the  deep  power  of  joy 
We  see  into  the  life  of  things, 

Shakespeare  skillfully  associates  his  pathos  with 
the  leisurely  pursuits  and  the  most  sensitive  opera- 
tions of  the  mind:  such  occupations  as  reading, 
listening  to  music,  meditation,  friendly  converse; 
such  intuitive  operations  as  are  involved  in  shy 
and  random  reminiscence,  recapitulation,  or  com- 
parison, or  in  half-conscious  or  vaguely  relevant 
planning,  premonition  and  presentiment.  These 
moods  fall  in  moments  of  reunion  or  leave-taking, 
of  happiness  after  sorrow  or  safety  after  peril,  of 
momentary  release  from  labor  or  pain,  in  the  lulls 
of  grief  or  conflict,  which,  in  tragedy,  are  but  the 
suspensive  pause  before  the  blow,  a  momentary 
hush  of  the  unexpended  storm  **from  whose^solid 
atmosphere,  black  rain,  and  fire,  and  hail,  will 
burst"  in  the  final  cataclysm. 

For  the  accentuation  of  these  moods,  Shakes- 
peare frequently  employs  certain  incidental  acces- 
sories upon  which  he  securely  relies  for  the  pathetic 
modulation  of  the  scene.     One  of  these  accessories, 


54  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

already  hinted  at,  is  music,  not  extraneous,  usu- 
ally, but  motived  by  the  action  and  an  organic 
part  of  it.  The  boy,  Lucius,  touches  the  lute  while 
Brutus  watches  in  his  tent  on  the  eve  of  Philippi; 
Ophelia^s  mad  snatches,  Desdemona's  "Willow" 
song,  the  music  which  the  Doctor  prescribes  for 
the  awakening  of  Lear,  Fidele's  dirge  in  Cymbeline, 
and  numerous  minor  instances  are  to  the  same 
purpose.  Flowers,  also,  are  accessories  of  pathetic 
suggestion.  Nothing  in  the  mad  scenes  of  Ophelia, 
when  portrayed  on  the  stage,  is  more  conducive 
to  tears  than  her  business  with  the  flowers: 

Thought  and  affliction,  passion,  hefl  itself 
She  turns  to  favour  and  to  prettiness. 

Other  flower  passages  in  the  plays  have  been  fre- 
quently commented  on,  because  of  their  exquisite 
poetry.  Such  are  Perdita's  "I  would  I  had  some 
flowers  o'  the  spring",  etc.,  and  Arviragus's  less 
famous  or  at  least  less  frequently  quoted,  but 
hardly  less  beautiful 

With  fairest  flowers 
Whilst  summer  lasts  and  I  live  here,  Fidele, 
I'll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave.     Thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower  that's  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose,  nor 
The  azured  harebell,  like  thy  veins,  no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine,  whom  not  to  slander, 
Out-sweet'ned  not  thy  breath. 

Those  who  have  lingered  over  the  quieter  scenes 
of  Shakespeare  must  have  been  often  aware  of 
still  another  aspect  of  life  which  drew  from  him 
some  of  his  wooinsest  and  most  lovable  touches — 
I  mean  his  references  to,  and  his  portrayals  of, 


Shakespeare's  pathos  55 

sleep.  Two  qualities  of  this  phase  of  our  natural 
being  seem  to  have  especially  impressed  Shakes- 
peare— its  pathos  and  its  mystery.  Both  tones 
are  congenial  to  the  subdued  movement  of  his 
scenes  of  suspense  and  preparation,  and  it  is  sel- 
dom that  either  is  quite  absent  when  sleep  is 
thought  of.  The  mystical  bond  between  man  and 
the  secret  workings  of  the  invisible  universe  that 
clips  him  round,  as  shown  in  the  restorative  virtue 
of  sleep,  but  also  in  "the  cursed  thoughts  that 
nature  gives  way  to  in  repose,"  the  involuntary 
and  apparently  lawless,  but  often  startlingly  signifi- 
cant operations  of  the  mind  off  guard,  its  recapitu- 
lation in  dreams  of  the  waking  past,  its  random 
foreshadowings  of  things  to  come,  made  this  do- 
main of  experience  peculiarly  attractive  to  him 
as  a  dramatic  agency.  Sleep  is  the  surprisal  of 
the  essential,  the  very  man.  It  strips  from  the 
recital  of  his  acts  and  the  confession  and  analysis 
of  his  psychic  life,  the  artificiality  of  studied  narra- 
tive or  of  self-conscious  soliloquy,  and  it  surrounds 
its  revelations  with  an  aura  of  wonder  which  allies 
them  to  the  supernatural.  It  raises  them  to  a 
higher  power  of  emotional  idealization  which  in- 
tensifies their  livingness  just  as  art,  just  as  Shakes- 
peare's representation  itself,  is  more  real  than 
actuality. 

Again,  sleep  is  one  of  the  natural  goods  of  life, 
beautiful  in  itself,  like  flowers,  like  the  songs  of 
birds.  It  is  the  touchstone  of  health;  as  the  man 
sleepeth,  so  is  he.  Where  virtue  is,  it  is  more 
virtuous,    and   where   beauty   is,    more   beautiful. 


56  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

The  relation  to  sleep  therefore  becomes  an  index 
of  character  and  of  psychic  constitution  and  a 
means  of  portraying  them.  Such  intimate  revela- 
tions are  pathetic;  their  very  intimacy  tends  toward 
pathos.  There  is  something  magical  in  the  mere 
sight  of  a  sleeper;  the  sheer  passivity,  the  immo- 
bility, the  innocence,  the  helplessness,  even  of  the 
strong,  even  of  the  wicked,  come  home  to  us,  with- 
out comment,  directly;  the  sleeper  is  made  one 
with  nature.  And  sleep  has  another  direct  effect 
on  the  imagination  to  which  Shakespeare,  like 
other  poets,  was  keenly  alive:  it  is  the  portrait 
and  prognostic  of  the  sleep  that  ends  all.  Death 
itself,  except  in  association  with  childhood,  he 
almost  never  rendered  pathetically;  but,  in  sleep, 
**death's  counterfeit",  and  in  the  preparations  for 
it,  he  seemed  to  find  exactly  that  fanciful  and  ten- 
der symbol  of  the  dread  finality  which  harmonized 
with  his  pathos. 

The  plays  are  full  of  these  sleep  scenes,  some- 
times merely  described  or  hinted,  sometimes  actu- 
ally represented;  usually  bound  up  with  the  motiva- 
tion of  character  and  action,  but  seldom  without 
some  direct  suggestive  value  as  spectacle  and  sym- 
bol. Such  is  Tyrrel's  picture  of  the  sleeping 
princes  (Richard  III,  IV,  iii.) 

girdling  one  another 
Within  their  alabaster  innocent  arms: 
Their  lips  were  four  red  roses  on  a  stalk, 
Which  in  their  summer  beauty  kiss'd  each  other: 

We  smothered 

The  most  replenished  sweet  work  of  nature 
That  from  the  prime  creation  e'er  she  framed. 


Shakespeare's  pathos  57 

There  is  pathos,  not  quite  lost  in  voluptuousness, 
in  the  picture  of  the  sleeping  Lucrece,  with  Tar- 
quin's  ruffian  face  thrust  toward  her  through  the 
parted  curtain: 

Showing  life's  triumph  in  the  map  of  death 
And  death's  dim  look  in  life's  mortality: 
Each  in  her  sleep  themselves  so  beautify 
As  if  between  them  twain  there  were  no  strife, 
But  that  life  liv'd  in  death,  and  death  in  life. 

The  same  group  reappeared,  refined  and  chastened, 

some  fifteen  years  later  in  the  exquisite  chamber 

scene  of  Cymbeline,   where   Imogen,   fallen   asleep 

over  her  book,  is  displayed  to  the  prying  eyes  of 

lachimo. 

'Tis  her  breathing  that 
Perfumes  the  chamber  thus;  the  flame  of  the  taper 
Bows  toward  her,  and  would  under-peep  her  lids 
To  see  the  enclosed  lights,  now  canopied 
Under  these  windows,  white  and  azure  lac'd 

With  blue  of  heaven's  own  tint — 

On  her  left  breast 

A  mole  cinque  spotted,  like  the  crimson  drops 
r  the  bottom  of  a  cowslip. 

Place  beside  this  the  coda  of  the  great  Boar's  Head 
scene  (i  Henry  IV,  il,  iv),  the  picture  of  Falstaff 
"fast  asleep  behind  the  arras  and  snorting  like  a 
horse".  "Hark,  how  hard  he  fetches  breath! 
Search  his  pockets".  This  is  coming  close  to  the 
gray,  old  sinner.  His  very  pockets  yield  up  their 
secrets.  No  fear  of  waking;  the  trump  of  doom  is 
a  mere  fifth  in  his  harmony.  The  sheriff  and  his 
rout  have  departed;  England  is  arming;  and  there 
he  lies,  in  a  colossal  slumber,  the  gift  we  may  pre- 


58  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

sume  of  much  sack,  over-taxed  nature,  and  a  con- 
science as  easy  ''an  it  had  been  any  christom  child". 
''There  let  him  sleep  till  day".  And  so  we  slip 
out  and  leave  him.  The  man  who  will  fmd  pathos 
in  this,  you  may  say,  will  fmd  pathos  in  anything. 
Well,  perhaps  it  is  not  pathos  precisely;  but  it  is 
the  very  life,  and  pathos  will  come  of  it.  A  little 
later  (2  Henry  IV,  III,  i),  we  are  in  the  palace  of 
Westminster,  and  the  king  enters  in  his  night- 
gown; he  is  ill,  and  old  before  his  time,  shaken  with 
cares,  and  the  fault  he  made  in  compassing  the 
crown  lies  heavy  on  his  soul;  he  dispatches  a 
messenger  to  "call  the  Earls  of  Surrey  and  of 
Warwick",  and  then  comes  the  famous  "expostula- 
tion": 

How  many  thousand  of  my  poorest  subjects 

Are  at  this  hour  asleep!     0  sleep!     0  gentle  sleep! 

Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  thee? 

Wilt  thou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 

Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 

In  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge  .... 

It  is  a  pathetic  prelude  to  the  painful  crown  scene 
of  the  ensuing  act,  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  high- 
mettled  Bolingbroke.  Similar  reflections  upon 
sleep  supply  the  basis  of  the  only  pathetic  passage 
in  the  life  of  the  new  king,  the  stout-hearted 
Henry  V.  After  wandering  about  the  sleeping 
camp  and  conversing  with  such  of  his  soldiers  as 
are  awake  on  the  night  before  Agincourt,  Henry 
gives  way  in  solitude  to  inward  thought;  his 
courage  quails  an  instant  before  the  responsibility 


Shakespeare's  pathos  59 

which  his  men  have  laid  upon  him  for  the  mor- 
row's business,  and  it  is  here  that  he  touches  his 
high  point  in  poetry: 

I  know 
'Tis  not  the  balm,  the  sceptre  and  the  ball, 

The  farced  title  running  fore  the  king. 
The  throne  he  sits  on,  nor  the  tide  of  pomp 
That  beats  upon  the  high  shore  of  this  world. 

Can  sleep  so  soundly  as  the  wretched  slave 

Who  with  a  body  filled  and  vacant  mind 

Gets  him  to  rest,  crammed  with  distressful  bread. 

Next  moment,  it  is  to  the  ''God  of  battles"  that 
he  prays,  to  "steel  his  soldiers'  hearts";  but  it  is 
here  that  he  feels  the  mystery  of  life. 

It  would  require  a  separate  paper  to  trace  out 
all  the  instances  where  Shakespeare  has  made  sleep 
the  monitor  of  one's  sense  of  life,  has  used  its  sug- 
gestion for  stilling  in  us, — as  in  the  personages  of 
his  scene, — the  hurly  of  the  restless,  active  busi- 
ness of  waking  existence,  so  that  we  feel  earth 
breathe,  and  hear  "time  flowing  in  the  night", 
and  "all  the  rivers  running  to  the  sea".  Perhaps 
nothing  in  Macbeth  is  so  piteous  as  the  violation 
done  to  nature  with  respect  to  sleep,  "the  innocent 
sleep,  sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravelled  sleave  of 
care".  For  "Macbeth  does  murder  sleep",  his 
own  above  all.  The  theme  recurs  again  and  again, 
culminating  in  a  set  scene,  the  sleep-walking  of 
Lady  Macbeth.  This  scene,  however,  pitiful  as  it 
is,  is  too  terrible  for  pathos,  and  probably  should 
not  be  regarded  as  the  specifically  pathetic  move- 


60  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

ment  of  the  play.  Like  Richard's  terrible  visit- 
ings  on  the  last  night  of  his  life  it  is  allied  to  the 
supernatural  in  effect  and  is  a  part  of  the  last 
movement,  the  catastrophe. 

But  in  several  of  the  tragedies  this  theme  is 
attached  to  the  set  scene  of  pathos.  Brutus  leans 
over  the  sleeping  boy  and,  with  words  of  unaccus- 
tomed lightness  and  tender  fancy,  takes  the  lute 
from  his  hands,  before  settling  himself  to  his  book. 
Desdemona  lets  down  her  hair  while  she  sings, 
remembering  her  childhood,  chats  sleepily,  rubs 
her  eyes,  and  prepares  for  her  last  rest.  Lear 
awakens  from  a  restoring  slumber,  shattered  but 
sane,  to  find  Cordelia  standing  over  him  with 
heart  too  near  breaking  to  dream  the  word,  for- 
giveness. The  feigned  death  of  Juliet  had  similar 
potentialities,  but  they  are  not,  I  think,  realized; 
there  is  too  little  quietness;  the  villainous  nurse 
breaks  in;  horror  and  confusion  unroll;  there  is  no 
pause  over  the  pathetic  beauty  of  the  picture,  as 
in  these  incomparable  scenes.  The  lovely  trance 
of  Imogen,  with  the  dwelling  lyricism  of  her  syl- 
van obsequies,  is  more  like;  but  after  all,  more 
pretty  than  moving.  It  is  in  the  awakening  of 
Lear  that  we  have  Shakespeare's  supreme  pathos, 
too  beautiful  to  bear, — almost. 

When,  now,  with  a  rather  definite  idea  of  the 
quality  of  Shakespeare's  pathos  and  a  conscious 
knowledge  of  the  means  by  which  he  habitually 
produced  this  effect,  we  examine  the  plays  as  a 
whole,  we  are  immediately  aware  of  a  method  in 
the  disposition  of  his  pathetic  scenes.     And  if,  in 


Shakespeare's  pathos  61 

addition,  we  look  at  the  plays  with  some  attention 
to  the  probable  order  of  their  composition,  we  are 
further  impressed  by  a  development  in  this,  as  in 
other  aspects  of  his  art,  which  throws  additional 
light  upon  his  artistic  intention.  Not  only  is 
there  an  increasing  command  of  the  elements  of 
pathos,  a  surer  and  finer  touch  in  details;  there  is 
increasing  sureness  of  method  in  his  massing  of 
them  into  set  scenes  of  pathetic  climax  and  in  his 
emphasis  of  these  scenes  as  a  definite  movement 
in  the  scheme  of  emotional  values,  with  a  sense  of 
their  due  place  and  proportion  in  the  total  effect 
of  the  piece. 

As  I  have  already  noticed,  in  passing,  Shake- 
speare never  ends  a  piece  in  the  pathetic  key.  This 
distinction  of  the  Shakespearean  drama  may  be 
well  elucidated  by  a  comparison  of  any  of  the 
mature  tragedies  with  such  a  play  as  Heywood's 
A  Woman  Killed  with  Kindness.  Here  Heywood 
represents  with  much  dramatic  force  and  natural- 
ness a  story  of  domestic  infidelity.  The  wife, 
Mistress  Frankford,  is  punished  by  her  husband 
merely  through  exile  from  him  and  from  their 
children.  The  concluding  scene  in  which  the  re- 
pentant wife,  now  on  her  death-bed,  beseeches  and 
receives,  among  weeping  relatives,  her  husband's 
heart-felt  forgiveness,  is  treated  with  sincere  and 
tender  feeling  and  no  little  poetic  beauty.  We  are 
deeply  touched.  But  one  sees,  at  once,  that 
Shakespeare  would  never  make  such  a  scene  the 
last  movement  of  a  tragic  piece.  He  would  not 
leave    us    thus    emotionally    unbraced.     Life,    in 


62  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Shakespeare,  is  something  more  heroic  than  this. 
His  scheme  would  call  for  another  act  in  which 
there  should  befall  the  hero  some  fierce  calamity, 
much  or  little  deserved,  but  tremendously  en- 
dured. This  scene  of  touching  beauty,  though 
it  would  have  no  less  value  in  and  for  itself,  would 
have  a  still  greater  value  as  an  emotional  prepara- 
tion for  the  grand  catharsis  of  the  fmale. 

What  we  have  in  Shakespeare's  scenes  of  pathos, 
then,  is  a  deliberate  modulation  of  key,  somewhat 
analogous  to  the  modulation  of  key  that  has  been 
frequently  noticed  in  his  scenes  of  so-called  "comic 
relief";  so  that  we  might  equally  speak,  if  anyone 
likes  the  phrase,  of  his  scenes  of  "pathetic  relief". 
Only  these  scenes  have,  in  his  developed  style  of 
dramatic  representation,  a  use  beyond  that  of  mere 
emotional  "relief";  they  have,  in  the  tragedies 
especially,  as  already  implied,  a  perfectly  definite 
position  just  before  the  point  where  w^e  strike 
into  the  last  movement  which  works  up  to  the 
fmale,  serving  on  the  one  hand  to  prepare  us  for 
the  catastrophe  by  dimly  fore-shadowing  it,  and, 
on  the  other,  to  increase  the  force  of  its  appeal  by 
purifying  our  emotions  and  intensifying  our  sym- 
pathy for  the  chief  sufferers.  It  remains  to  dis- 
cover as  well  as  may  be,  wdth  the  means  at  our 
disposal,  the  steps  by  which  Shakespeare  became 
master  of  this  procedure. 

For,  as  I  suggested  a  moment  since,  it  is  not  to 
be  supposed  that  Shakespeare  came  full-fledged 
to  an  appreciation  of  these  values  in  dramatic 
representation.     He  found  pathetic  values  in  life 


Shakespeare's  pathos  63 

and  story,  just  as  he  found  comic  and  tragic  values 
in  them,  and  his  massing  and  arrangement  of  these 
values  for  purposes  of  dramatic  effect  varied  with 
his  dramatic  purpose  and  improved  with  exper- 
ience. His  earliest  tragedies  make  little  appli- 
cation of  the  principle  which  has  just  been  ex- 
pounded. The  extent  of  his  responsibility  for  the 
Andronicus  is  so  problematical  that  it  would  be 
unwise  to  base  any  conclusions  upon  this  play. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that,  though  full  of  the  crude  ma- 
terials of  pathos,  this  play  shows  no  real  command 
of  pathetic  appeal  and,  partly  for  this  reason  per- 
haps, its  abundant  horrors  fail  of  a  genuinely  tragic 
effect. 

Can  one,  without  opening  oneself  to  a  charge  of 
vandalism,  suggest  that  anything  might  be  differ- 
ent in  so  superb  a  success  and  so  just  a  favorite 
as  Romeo  and  Juliet?  Certain  it  is  that  the  pathetic 
and  the  tragic  appeals  in  this  play  are  more 
mingled,  less  distinguishable  from  each  other  than 
in  the  great  central  tragedies.  Up  to  and  includ- 
ing the  parting  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  barring  some 
juvenilities  of  style,  the  play  proceeds  in  his  best 
manner;  the  death  of  Mercutio  is  consummately 
managed;  the  tragic  movement  begins  to  disengage 
itself  from  its  comic  support  and  reaches  forward 
right  Shakespeareanly  to  the  parting.  So  far  so 
good.  The  fourth  act  is  occupied  exclusively  with 
Juliet;  but  the  difficulties  which  beset  her  afford 
no  pause  for  reflection;  no  opportunity,  there- 
fore, for  the  pathos  of  her  situation  to  sink  in 
upon  us.     The   objurgations   of  her  parents,   the 


64  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

importunities  of  Paris,  the  sensual  cacklings  of 
the  Nurse,  give  her  no  peace  and  us  no  repose; 
even  her  interviews  with  the  Friar  are  occupied 
with  practical  planning.  She  swallows  the  potion 
in  a  furore  of  grisly  foreboding.  The  curtains  re- 
open and  show  her  lying  upon  her  couch,  appar- 
ently asleep.  But  the  hubbub  begins  again.  The 
fussy  cachinnations  of  the  Nurse,  her  salacious 
references  to  Paris,  are  followed  by  the  bowlings 
of  Juliet's  parents,  and  culminate  in  the  arrival 
of  Paris  and  the  wedding  music.  Such  spiritual 
beauty  as  the  Friar  might  be  expected  to  impart 
to  the  scene  is  more  than  neutralized  by  the  dis- 
ingenuousness  of  his  position;  his  consolations  are 
as  hollow  as  the  sorrow  to  which  he  ministers. 
There  is  no  denying  that  the  representation  of  all 
this  empty  raving,  particularly  the  Nurse's  absurd 
reverberation  of  the  ranting  parents  and  Gapulet's 
ridiculous  banality: 

Uncomfortable  time,  why  camst  thou  now 
To  murder,  murder  our  solemnity? 

displays  a  power  of  sardonic  realism  which  cannot 
be  overestimated;  but  I  cannot  resist  a  feeling 
that,  at  a  later  period,  Shakespeare  would  have 
ordered  things  somewhat  differently  at  this  stage 
of  the  tragedy.  I  feel  that,  in  some  beauteous 
pause  at  this  moment  of  the  action,  he  would 
have  found  means  to  convey  to  us  the  tender 
significance  of  the  story  which,  as  things  stand,  is 
produced  in  the  long  and  somewhat  tedious  coda 
to  the  catastrophe. 


Shakespeare's  pathos  65 

The  earlier  histories  are  virtually  tragedies,  in 
the  general  sense  that  they  deal  with  violent  and 
calamitous  events.  In  the  Henry  VI  plays  there 
is  no  law  but  lawlessness;  if  any  unity  prevails 
it  is  perhaps  a  sense  of  an  inexorable  march  of 
events  in  which  one  unholy  ambition  puts  up  its 
head  only  to  be  hewed  down  by  another  which 
soon  suffers  the  same  fate.  There  are  some  ran- 
dom strokes  of  pathos,  such  as  the  scenes  of  Talbot 
and  his  son  in  the  fourth  act  of  Part  One,  which 
are  supposed,  from  a  contemporary  allusion,  to 
have  been  ''embalmed  with  the  tears  of  ten  thou- 
sand spectators".  A  broader  pathos  is  evidently 
aimed  at  in  the  figure  of  the  sentimental  and  in- 
effectual king,  who  steals  out  of  battle  to  sit  upon 
a  hillock  and  yearn  for  the  shepherd's  life;  whose 
misapplied  piety  is  the  very  source  of  the  wounds 
that  afflict  his  bleeding  country  and  his  own  soul. 
This  conception  is  one  feature  of  the  plays  in  which 
competent  critics  discern  the  presence  of  Shake- 
speare; its  effect,  however,  is  but  feebly  achieved; 
for  the  most  part,  terror  reigns.  It  is  toward  the 
end  of  the  third  piece  that  the  diffused  anarchy 
of  the  series  begins  to  gather  to  a  head  in  the 
arch-anarch  whose  remorseless  climb  to  the  throne 
through  the  blood  of  his  nearest  relatives,  with  his 
ultimate  destruction  and  the  dawning  of  better 
times,  provides  the  theme  of  Richard  III,  The 
impressiveness  of  Richard's  cruelty  is  set  off  by 
a  pathetic  treatment  of  his  victims.  Clarence 
relates  his  fearful  dream  and  then  falls  asleep, 
just  before  the  entrance  of  the  murderers  in  the 

S-5. 


66  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

first  act.  The  pathetic  treatment  of  the  innocent 
princes  I  have  already  described.  But  Anne  is 
not  so  presented  as  to  command  our  respect;  while 
the  railings  and  lamentations  of  the  women  in 
the  fourth  act  are  treated  with  grandiosity,  not 
with  pathos;  the  recapitulation  of  Richard's  crimes 
through  the  apparition  of  his  victims  in  his  own 
and  Richmond's  dreams  is  stagey  and,  again, 
aims  at  the  sublime  rather  than  the  pathetic. 
The  tent  scene  which  precedes  the  dream  has  a 
few  intimate  touches  which  anticipate  the  manner 
of  the  tent  scene  in  Julius  Caesar;  but  of  course  it 
is  only  a  qualified  sympathy  that  can  be  aroused 
for  Richard.  Horror  and  admiration  toward  Rich- 
ard, rather  than  pity  for  his  victims,  sets  the  key 
throughout. 

In  King  John  the  theme  of  pitiful  childhood, 
introduced  in  the  preceding  play,  is  more  broadly 
developed.  The  fourth  act  concerns  itself  almost 
entirely  with  the  fate  of  Arthur.  The  character 
of  the  unhappy  princeling  has  many  winning 
nuances  and  the  famous  Hubert  scene,  a  penetrat- 
ing pathos.  Constance,  on  the  other  hand,  rails 
and  laments  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  Rich- 
ard's upbraiders,  and  is,  on  the  whole,  ineffective. 
Arthur  is  not  so  associated  with  the  king  in  our 
minds  as  to  give  the  pathos  of  his  fate  a  sufficiently 
poignant  bearing  on  the  tragedy  of  the  latter; 
the  Bastard  further  complicates  our  sympathies; 
and  the  play  produces,  at  best,  but  a  mixed  effect. 
Richard  II,  in  my  opinion,  shows  evidences  of  an 
effort  on  the  dramatist's  part  to  remedy  this  defect 


Shakespeare's  pathos  67 

of  the  preceding  play.  The  recent  tendency  is  to 
despise  the  character  of  Richard  rather  more,  I 
think,  than  Shakespeare  intended,  and  possibly, 
also,  to  value  more  highly  than  he  meant  the 
qualities  of  Richard's  successful  adversary,  the 
'^efficient"  and  politic  Bolingbroke.  I  am  con- 
fident that  he  intended  the  great  deposition  scene 
which  occupies  most  of  the  fourth  act  to  produce 
a  genuinely  pathetic  effect.  If  he  fails  it  is  be- 
cause  the  means  which  he  employed  to  regain  our 
sympathy  for  '^Richard,  that  sweet  lovely  rose," 
are  insufficient  to  cope  with  the  contempt  pre- 
viously aroused  through  his  pitiless  unbaring  of  the 
mixed  sentimentalism  and  heartlessness  of  Rich- 
ard's character.  I  wonder,  by  the  way,  whether 
anyone  has  thought  to  mention  the  connection, 
implicit  but  not  stated,  between  Richard's  un- 
usual physical  beauty  and  the  frailties  of  his  char- 
acter. It  is  profoundly  done,  and  I  do  not  re- 
member to  have  seen  it  touched  upon. 

The  matter  which  is  vital  to  this  discussion, 
however,  is  not  the  loss  of  our  sympathies,  but  the 
means  by  which  they  are  sought  to  be  regained. 
The  appeal  to  our  physical  senses,  just  alluded  to, 
is  one.  Richard's  charm  of  fancy  is  another. 
The  partial  failure  in  this  respect  is  not  due  en- 
tirely, I  believe,  to  a  fault  of  intention,  but  to  a 
faulty  exuberance  in  Shakespeare's  own  manner 
at  this  period  of  which  abundant  examples  can 
be  found  in  the  speech  of  other  characters  in  the 
same  play  and  in  other  nearly  contemporary  plays, 
notably    Romeo    and  Juliet.     To    the    same    end, 


68  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Shakespeare  took  a  considerable  liberty  with  his- 
torical fact  in  developing  Richard's  child  wife 
into  the  "weeping  queen"  of  this  play,  obviously 
for  the  specific  purpose  of  elaborating  the  pathos 
of  Richard's  history.  The  deposition  scene  is 
immediately  preceded  by  that  ^'beautiful  islet  of 
repose",  as  Coleridge  called  it,  the  garden  scene 
in  which  the  queen  overhears  the  Gardener  and 
his  servant  gossiping  of  Richard's  overthrow  while 
they  mend  the  shrubs.  The  writing  is  not  Shake- 
speare's best,  but  a  glance  at  it  will  reveal  that 
timing,  tone,  and  accessories  foretell  his  later 
way  of  doing  the  thing.  Here  and  in  the  parting 
with  Richard  which  immediately  follows  the  de- 
position, the  fictitious  queen  bears  herself  with  the 
sweetness  and  propriety  due  to  pathos,  and  very 
unlike  the  women  of  the  preceding  histories;  and 
some  of  Richard's  loveliest,  most  dignified  and — 
though  a  little  marred  by  self-pity — least  affected 
words  are  spoken  to  her: 

Join   not  with  grief,  fair  woman,  do  not  so, 
To  make  my  end  too  sudden:  learn,  good  soul, 
To  think  our  former  state  a  happy  dream; 
From  which  awak'd,  the  truth  of  what  we  are 
Shows  us  but  this.     I  am  sworn  brother,  sweet. 
To  grim  Necessity,  and  he  and  I 
Will  keep  a  league  till  death.     Hie  thee  to  France 
And  cloister  thee  in  some  religious  house: 
Our  holy  lives  must  win  a  new  world's  crown 
Which  our  profane  hours  here  have  stricken  down. 

His  next  lines  have  even  greater  simplicity  and 
spiritual  beauty,  reminding  us  of  Lear  to  Cordelia 
under  somewhat  similar  circumstances.     One  more 


Shakespeare's  pathos  69 

attempt  to  rally  our  hearts  to  Richard  is  made 
when  the  groom  of  the  stables  visits  him,  just 
before  his  death,  to  talk  of  ''roan  Barbary". 
However  these  things  "be  overdone  or  come  tardy 
off",  one  sees  that  the  method  pursued  is  that  of 
Shakespeare. 

During  the  four  or  five  years  following  Richard 
II,  if  the  now  accepted  chronology  of  the  plays 
be  correct,  a  large  share  of  Shakespeare's  energy 
went  into  the  creation  of  comedy  and  a  large  ele- 
ment of  comedy  invades  the  remaining  histories. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  Falstaff  and  his  comic  re- 
tinue, the  main  upshot  of  these  plays  is  not  comic, 
nor  is  it  precisely  tragic;  it  is  heroic.  Each  of 
the  plays  of  the  Henry  V  trilogy  ends  in  some 
species  of  triumph.  The  "Shakespeare's  ideal 
king"  business  has  undoubtedly  been  greatly  over- 
done with  respect  to  Henry  V;  but  the  fact  remains 
that  he  is  the  only  one  of  England's  "royal  kings" 
who,  in  Shakespeare's  portrayal,  bears  the  brunt 
of  the  heroic  life  unbroken.  It  is  in  showing  us 
the  wrecks  that  strew  the  path  of  this  royal  progress 
that  pathos  finds  employment,  usually  in  an 
admixture  with  comedy.  In  the  first  piece  it  is 
Hotspur  for  whom  our  sympathy  is  built  up 
through  close  revelations  of  his  absurd  but  lovable 
nature,  especially  in  the  two  scenes  with  his  wife. 
Lady  Percy's  'Tn  faith,  I'll  break  thy  little  finger, 
Harry",  when  he  refuses  to  divulge  the  secret  of 
his  disquiet,  and  her  "Wouldst  thou  have  thy  head 
broken?"  when  his  wagging  tongue  insists  on  inter- 
rupting the  music,   are  taking  reminders  of  this 


70  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

side  of  our  acquaintance  with  Hotspur.  In  the 
end  he  is  *'food  for — "  "For  worms  brave  Percy", 
and  the  other  Harry  gently  lays  his  colours  over 
the  mangled  face.  But  a  moment  later  this 
senseless  clay  is  the  victim  of  Falstaff's  gross 
buffoonery, — a  giant  irony,  too  strong  for  some 
weak  stomachs.  *'Did  these  bones  cost  no  more 
the  breeding,  than  to  play  at  loggats  with  'em?" 
The  pathos  of  the  next  piece  centers  in  the 
king  and  culminates  in  the  bedsid^e  scene  of  the 
fourth  act,  in  which  his  weary  heart  receives  its 
mortal  shock.  The  dramatist's  care  to  preserve 
the  pathetic  value  here  is  shown  by  the  nice 
management  through  which  the  actual  death  of 
the  king  is  made  to  take  place  off  the  stage.  At 
the  end  of  the  piece  King  Henry  V,  crowned,  crosses 
the  stage  in  all  the  panoply  of  costly  state.  This  is 
one  of  the  places  in  Shakespeare  where  criticism  has 
often  gone  astray  and  where  over-perception  of  a 
small  point  may  easily  lead  us  so;  where  perception 
of  his  main  dramatic  intention  is  all-important. 
Falstaff  is  there  to  greet  the  new  king.  He  hails 
him:  ''My  king!  My  Jove!  I  speak  to  thee,  my 
heart!"  Then  come  Henry's  apparently  heartless 
words  of  rejection,  containing  not  one  hint  of 
tenderness  or  regret  for  their  nights  and  suppers  of 
the  gods.  To  the  stinging  reproaches  of  the  king, 
Falstaff  offers  no  interruption  or  reply;  but  after 
the  king's  exit,  he  has  this  line:  "Justice  Shallow,  I 
owe  you  a  thousand  pound".  Professor  Moulton 
appears  to  see  in  this  brief  speech  only  another  re- 
bound of  Falstaff's  irrepressible  waggery.     "The 


Shakespeare's  pathos  71 

meeting  has  come,  and  the  blow  has  fallen;  we  turn 
to  hear  the  first  words  of  a  crushed  man:  and  what 
we  hear  is  one  more  flash  of  the  old  humour". 
Surely,  this  is  only  one  side  of  the  matter  and 
not,  perhaps,  the  most  important  one.  The  subse- 
quent history  of  Falstaff  shows  he  was  hard  hit;  but 

(So  tight  he  kept  his  lips  compressed, 

Scarce  any  blood  came  through) 
You  looked  twice  ere  you  saw  his  breast 

Was  all  but  shot  in  two. 

This  second  look,  Professor  Bradley  has  taken, 
and  he  has  given  us  the  result  of  his  observations 
in  the  fine  lecture  on  The  Rejection  of  Falstaff. 
And  yet  I  am  not  quite  satisfied.  Professor  Brad- 
ley is  prone  to  admit  that  Shakespeare  has  made 
a  mistake;  that  he  has  let  Falstaff  run  away  with 
him.  I  cannot  think  so.  It  is  neither  FalstafT's 
humour  nor  his  pathos,  nor  is  it  Henry's  hardness 
of  heart  which  impresses  me;  it  is  the  stern  heroism 
of  the  moment.  Harry  the  Fifth  is  crowned  and 
what  does  it  mean?  Why,  from  one  point  of  view, 
that  his  old  friend  Falstaff  cannot  or  will  not  pay 
his  debts.  It  is  comic  or  pathetic,  as  you  will; 
but  what  are  comedy  and  pathos  to  the  relentless 
soul  whose  powers  are  knit  up  for  achievement? 
At  last,  England  has  such  a  king.  How  squalid, 
for  the  moment,  seems  Falstaff  with  his  crew  in 
the  little  street;  the  great  wit  and  the  gay  heart 
are  silenced ;  stern  j  ustice  speaks ;  it  is  the  heroic  life ; 

The  sword,  the  mace,  the  crown  imperial, 
The  intertissued  robe  of  gold  and  pearl 

sweep  on  and  leave  him  blinking. 


72  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

The  last  play  of  the  trilogy  is  all  triumph.  No, 
not  quite  all;  Shakespeare  did  not  altogether  for- 
get "plump  Jack",  though,  so  far  as  we  have  any 
evidence,  Henry  did;  in  the  midst  of  other  busi- 
ness, he  found  time  to  lift  the  curtain  for  one 
final  glimpse  of  the  banished  humorist.  "Lift  the 
curtain"  is  a  vile  phrase,  for  that  is  precisely  what 
the  dramatist  did  not  do,  but  veiled  the  scene 
behind  Mistress  Quickly's  magic  huddle  of  words. 
It  is  the  chief  stroke  of  pathos  in  the  play  and,  as 
everyone  knows,  one  of  the  great  achievements 
of  Shakespeare's  art.  No  words  can  do  it  justice; 
and  I  will  not  try.  The  play  proceeds  with  the 
triumphs  of  Henry,  in  statecraft,  in  war,  in  gambols 
with  his  men,  in  councils  with  his  generals.  He 
is  the  sufficient  king.  Finally,  we  are  permitted 
to  be  present  at  a  royal  wooing.  The  situation 
is  a  droll  one,  in  a  way.  Katherine  is,  of  course, 
a  prize  of  war;  softness,  under  the  circumstances, 
would  be  an  offense.  Katherine's  sparring  is  a 
credit  to  her  race  and  to  her  sex.  And  Henry 
carries  it  off  well,  with  engaging  liveliness  and 
soundness  of  heart.  It  is,  none  the  less,  a  diplo- 
matic wooing,  and  when  he  takes  his  largess  of 
her  lips,  it  is  in  full  presence  and  "the  kettle  drum 
and  trumpet  bray  out  the  triumph  of  his  pledge". 
Le  Roi  boit.  It  is  the  heroic  life.  So  ends  the 
historic  series. 

In  Richard  II,  Shakespeare  had  been  compelled 
to  go  out  of  his  way  to  secure  the  feminine  accessory 
to  his  pathetic  design.  He  was  content,  in  the 
Henry  plays,  to  rest  his  pathos  largely  upon  mas- 


Shakespeare's  pathos  73 

culine  interests.  In  so  doing  he  acquired,  no  doubt, 
the  full  compass  in  the  presentation  of  male  char- 
acter and  the  ease  and  strength  in  guiding  the  sweep 
and  manipulating  the  irony  of  large  and  stern 
events  which  we  feel  so  powerfully  in  the  main 
movements  of  the  tragedies.  It  was  his  practice 
in  romantic  comedy  that  taught  him  the  softness 
and  refinement  in  feminine  portraiture  and  the 
noble  handling  of  the  private  emotions  which  stood 
him  so  well  in  hand  in  the  keying  of  his  scenes  of 
pathos.  The  comedies  are  love  stories  and  the 
elaboration  of  them  led  to  more  delicate  realiza- 
tions of  feminine  deportment  and  to  an  inter- 
twining and  contrasting  of  masculine  and  feminine 
interests.  Few  of  the  tragedies  are  love  stories, 
but  he  continues  in  them  to  attach  the  fate  of  a 
heroine  to  the  fate  of  the  hero;  the  two  fall  together. 
Timon  is  the  on.y  exception,  and  its  theme  is  one 
whose  swift  malice  allows  pathos  no  quarter.  But 
Timon  is  un-Shakespearean;  he  alone  dies  like  a 
dog;  all  the  others  die  like  men, — or  devils. 

Again,  as  most  of  the  histories  represent  the 
triumphs  of  men,  so  most  of  the  comedies  repre- 
sent the  triumphs  of  women.  This  is  perhaps  too 
whimsical;  but  at  least  Shakespeare  seldom  or 
never  ends  in  a  minor  key.  If  he  seems  to  do  so, 
it  is  because  of  some  lapse  of  sympathy  between 
him  and  us.  And  after  the  earliest  comedies,  he 
is  seldom  contented  with  a  mere  intellectual  dis- 
entanglement for  the  conclusion  of  a  piece.  His 
conception  of  the  last  stage  of  a  comedy  was  of  a 
revel  elaborated  into  a  full  movement,  a  thing  of 


74  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

joy,  of  sheer  delight.  This  conception  first  finds 
adequate  expression  in  A  Midsummer  Nighfs 
Dream,  which  ends,  first,  seemingly,  with  the  broad 
burlesque  of  the  mechanics. 

Which  when  I  saw  rehears'd,  I  must  confess 
Made  mine  eyes  water;  but  more  merry  tears 
The  passion  of  loud  laughter  never  shed, 

and  finally,  in  unparalleled  contrast,  with  the  fairies, 
singing  and  dancing  trippingly  and  scattering 
through  the  hushed,  moonlit  house  to  bless  the 
bridal  beds.  Need  one  mention  the  drench  of 
love-making,  music,  and  tipsy  moonlight  in  foun- 
tained  gardens,  with  which  the  last  act  of  the 
Merchant  dawns,  the  tinkling  merriment  of  the 
ring-play,  the  nuptial  tone  of  its  close.  "There  is, 
sure,  another  flood  toward,  and  these  couples 
are  coming  to  the  ark"  cries  envious  Jacques  at 
the  opening  of  another  of  these  hymeneal  finales. 

This  world  of  beauty  and  radiant  delight  could 
not  be  half  so  precious,  note,  after  two  hours  of 
mere  fun.  It  is  the  dark  menace  escaped  some 
few  moments  back,  the  sentience  of  life's  capacity 
for  pain,  the  knowledge  of  some  nobleness  lately 
revealed  and  underlying  it  all,  that  carries  us  so 
full-heartedly  into  this  revel  of  pure  joy,  this  glow 
of  nuptial  rosiness.  Shakespeare's  scheme  of  com- 
edy involves  the  subjecting  of  his  heroine  to  some 
sharp  trial  which  calls  on  her  inmost  qualities  for 
its  endurance  or  solution,  and  in  the  process  of  it 
awakens  our  sympathy  and  our  admiration.  Two 
ends  are  achieved:  we  are  touched,  and  she  wins 
her  title  to  her  lover. 


Shakespeare's  pathos  75 

The  deepening  of  his  pathos  at  this  point  is  a 
marked  characteristic  of  Shakespeare's  progress 
in  comic  writing.  The  earlier  comedies  either  make 
little  attempt  at  pathos  or  are  unsuccessful  in 
achieving  it.  Portia's  encounter  with  Shylock  is 
the  first  set  scene  of  importance  which  has  this 
character;  she  touches  us  by  her  capacity  and  her 
eloquence,  and  the  saving,  not  of  Antonio  merely, 
but  of  her  own  happiness  from  the  peril  that 
threatens  it.  The  accusation  of  Hero  in  Much 
Ado  is  not  her  trial  alone;  it  is  the  trial  of  Beatrice, 
in  whom  we  are  far  more  genuinely  interested. 
When  her  loyalty  to  her  cousin  comes  out  arrayed 
in  a  fiery  but  half-humorous  indignation  so  char- 
acteristic of  her,  the  revealing  moment  has  been 
met  and  we  join  Benedick  in  falling  head  over 
heels  in  love  with  her.  So,  when  Rosalind  swoons 
at  the  recital  of  Oliver  and  the  sight  of  the  blood- 
stained handkerchief,  we  are  reassured  of  the 
deeper  sentiency  which  underlies  her  sentimental 
persiflage;  henceforth,  she  may  "commend  her 
counterfeiting  to  him"  as  much  as  she  likes,  we 
know  better.  In  short,  we  are  ready  to  conduct 
her  to  the  altar. 

But  let  me  not  imitate  those  insatiate  authors 
who  pick  every  bone  and  leave  their  readers  to 
feast  on  the  grinning  remnants.  What  I  hope  I 
have  shown  is:  that  in  all  the  best  and  most  char- 
acteristic of  Shakespeare's  mature  plays  we  may 
be  conscious  of  a  masterly  manipulation  of  key 
with  a  view  to  totality  of  effect,  and  that  in  this 
emotional  scheme  the  effect  of  pathos  has  a  dis- 


76  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

tinct  place;  that  it  is  usually  most  broadly  de- 
veloped in  the  fourth  act,  where  the  effect  of  pathos, 
aside  from  its  value  in  and  for  itself,  serves  as  a 
preparation  and  relief  for  the  major  movement 
of  the  finale,  whether  that  major  movement  be 
one  of  delight,  as  in  comedy,  of  heroic  triumph, 
as  in  some  of  the  histories,  or  of  ineffable  grandeur, 
as  in  the  great  tragedies.  I  have  further  suggested, 
though  I  have  not  sought  to  develop  this  point 
fully,  that,  in  the  writing  of  his  comedies  and 
histories,  Shakespeare  gradually  acquired  both  the 
mastery  of  the  elements  of  pathos  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  its  most  effective  position  in  the  dramatic 
scheme  which  he  applied  in  all  his  later  tragedies. 
If  anyone  should  be  reluctant  to  accept  these 
conclusions  as  impairing  some  dearer  conception 
of  ^'Fancy's  child,  warbling  his  native  woodnotes 
wild",  I  recommend  to  him  Polixenes'  consola- 
tion to  Perdita,  when,  in  a  charming  revelation 
of  youthfulness,  she  expresses  disdain  for  the 
carnations  and  streak'd  gillyvors,  because  she  has 
heard  it  said  that,  in  their  breeding,  the  skill  of 
man  has  meddled  with  "great  creating  nature": 

this  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature,  change  it  rather,  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature. 

Because  Shakespeare's  pathos  occupies,  in  a 
sense,  a  subordinate  place  in  his  scheme  of  dramatic 
representation,  and  perhaps  of  life,  it  is  not  there- 
fore of  subordinate  importance.  When  we  com- 
pare the  comedies  of  Shakespeare  with  those  of 


SONGS   IN   SHAKESPEARE  77 

Jonson,  or  of  other  powerful  comic  writers  of  his 
time,  we  find  them  by  nothing  more  distinguished 
than  by  their  warm  and  intimate  appeals  to  our 
gentler  affections,  which,  more  than  anything  else, 
give  them  their  immortal  aspect  of  life  and  friend- 
liness. Others  approach  Shakespeare  in  shrewd- 
ness of  observation  and  analysis,  and,  barring  this 
one  quality,  in  wisdom;  but  no  one  is  so  intimate 
and  kindly.  The  same,  to  some  degree,  may  be 
said  of  his  tragedy.  The  finest  parts  of  Webster 
approach  the  great  scenes  of  Shakespeare  in  awful- 
ness  and  grandiosity,  but  lack  their  depth;  they 
want  his  masterful  kindness,  which,  in  the  midst 
of  the  most  bewildering  agitation,  adds  a  sweet- 
ness to  sorrow,  adds,  in  short,  the  indescribable 
Shakespearean  touch.  Whether  this  be  true  or 
not,  there  is  little  question  that  this  element 
in  Shakespeare  has  much  to  do  with  the  breadth 
of  his  appeal.  Many  escape  his  humour,  and 
some  his  sublimity;  there  are  few  who  do  not  yield 
their  worship  to  his  divine  tenderness. 


THE  FUNCTION  OF  THE  SONGS  IN 
SHAKESPEARE'S   PLAYS 

John  Robert  Moore. 


Queen.     What  imports  this  song? 
Ophelia.     Say  you?  Nay,  pray  you,  mark. 

HAMLET,  IV,  v,27-8. 

It  has  long  been  customary  for  enthusiastic 
critics  to  speak  of  the  Elizabethan  dramas  as  "a 
nest  of  singing  birds,"  and  of  the  songs  as  ''exqui- 
site nosegays"  of  "charming  lyrics,"  which  we 
might  fancy  to  be  "the  echo  of  a  bird's  voice  in 
spring." 

Upon  examination  of  the  plays  before  1590,  we 
discover  little  reason  for  this  adulation.  Broadly 
speaking,  there  was  on  the  Elizabethan  stage  no 
dramatic  song  before  Shakespeare.  The  plays  of 
Kyd  and  Marlowe  (save  for  a  stage  direction  in 
the  doubtful  Dido,  Queen  of  Carthage,  and  a  scrap 
of  mock-liturgical  chanting  in  Doctor  Faustus) 
are  without  songs.  Lodge  and  Greene,  exquisite 
lyrists  in  their  novels,  have  left  nothing  of  the 
sort  in  their  plays,  if  we  except  the  curious  Looking 
Glass  for  London  and  England,  which  has  been 
ascribed  to  them  jointly.  The  lyrics  formerly  attrib- 
uted to  Lyly  have,  in  recent  years,  been  assigned 
with  something  like  finality  to  a  later  century  and 

[78] 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE*  79 

a  later  hand.^  The  songs  of  Peele — aside  from 
his  most  famous  one,  which  occurs  in  a  non- 
dramatic  poem — are  found  chiefly  in  the  pastoral 
play,  The  Arraignment  of  Paris,  and  are  mostly 
pastoral  poems,  echo-songs  of  love-lorn  shepherds, 
essentially  undramatic  in  character.  Peele's  only 
tragedy,  like  the  tragedies  of  his  contemporaries, 
is  entirely  bare  of  songs. 

True,  the  song,  as  a  comic  device  upon  the  stage, 
is  of  great  antiquity: 

The  origin  of  song  and  comedy  is  in  the  English  drama  refer^ 
able  to  much  the  same  conditions,  chief  among  them  a  desire  to 
amuse.  If  we  turn  back  as  far  as  the  moralities  and  interludes 
we  shall  fmd  the  few  snatches  of  song,  there  indicated,  commonly 
put  into  the  mouth  of  the  roisterer,  the  vice,  or  the  devil; 
though  godly  songs  are  not  altogether  wanting.  2 

Whether  in  the  court  and  academic  plays  or  in 
the  popular  performances,  and  whether  sung  by 
the  children  of  the  chapel  or  by  the  clown  of  the 
innyard,  the  incidental  lyric  was  looked  upon  as 
something  external  to  the  course  of  the  action. 
It  was  considered  separable  from  its  context,  to 
be  printed  in  the  appendix  or  indicated  only  by 
a  stage  direction,  to  be  used  in  different  plays  at 
the  capricious  will  of  a  popular  singer  or  between 
acts  at  the  demand  of  pit  or  gallery,  or  to  be  ex- 
temporized on  the  stage  by  any  half-illiterate 
Tarleton  to  cap  the  rhymes  of  a  bantering  specta- 
tor. The  commonest  types  were  prosaic  bits  of 
Puritanic     moralizing     (before    the    players   were 

^  Greg,  The  Authorship  of  the  Songs  in  Lyly's  Plays,  Modern  Language 
Review,  I,  No.  I;  and  Feuillerat,  John  Lyly,  p.  403f.,  note  1. 

2  Schelling,  English  Literature  During  the  Lifetime  of  Shakespeare,  p.  201. 


80  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

banished  from  Puritanic  London),  drinking  catch- 
es, and  songs  by  the  clown. 

Between  the  acts  dancing  and  singing,  or  both  combined,  were 
introduced.  After  the  play  the  clown  came  to  the  front  and 
gave  a  jig,  generally  to  his  own  accompaniment  upon  pipe  or 
tabor.  Sometimes  he  had  an  accompaniment  played  for  him, 
in  which  case  he  generally  sang  as  he  danced.^ 

At  its  best,  the  song  on  the  popular  stage  was  a 
thing  for  diversion,  a  part  of  the  "inexplicable 
dumb-shows  and  noise." 

Noise  and  clamour  were  the  regular  accompaniments  of  all 
forms  of  entertainment.  Though  some  writers  object  to  the  ill- 
manners  and  filth  of  play-houses,  all  assume  noise  to  be  quite  in 
place.  All  the  stage-manager  had  to  do  was  to  provide  plenty 
of  it.  In  Greene's  "Alphonsus  of  Arragon"  there  are  twenty- 
five  separate  directions  for  the  sounding  of  drums  and  trumpets, 
besides  some  half-dozen  marching  entries  of  soldiery,  of  course 
accompanied  by  military  music. ^ 

So  much  for  buffoonery  and  incidental  music. 
We  may  go  a  step  farther,  and  say  that  until  1600 
there  was  (outside  Shakespeare)  little  or  no  func- 
tional use  of  the  song,  in  the  plays  that  have  come 
down  to  us.  Nash's  Summer' s  Last  Will  and  Testa- 
ment is  a  drama  only  by  courtesy,  and  the  earlier 
plays  of  Jonson  and  Marston  are  without  songs; 
Chapman  was  never  a  successful  lyrist,  and  Flet- 
cher, Middleton,  and  Dekker  had  yet  to  achieve 
note  in  writing  for  the  stage.  But  in  this  last 
decade  of  the  century,  Shakespeare  employed  lyrics 
with  uniform  success  in  all  of  his  plays  except  The 
Comedy  of  Errors,  certain  of  the  histories  ( Henry 
VI,    King  John,    Richard  II,    and    Richard  III), 

^  Elson,  Shakespeare  in  Music,  p.  319. 

*  Sheavyn,  The  Literary  Profession  in  the  Elizabethan  Age,  p.  202. 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  81 

and  the  doubtful  tragedy  Titus  Andronicus,  Fur- 
thermore, all  of  the  later  plays  contain  songs,  aside 
from  three  which  deal  with  remote  periods  of  ancient 
history  (Timon  of  Athens,  Pericles,  and  Corio- 
lanus).^ 

The  practice  of  his  predecessors  and  contem- 
poraries, such  as  it  was,  may  have  prompted  his 
use  of  the  dramatic  lyric;  the  ever-increasing  popu- 
larity of  the  song-books  and  of  the  art  of  singing 
assured  him  of  an  appreciative  audience,  if  not 
actually  one  which  demanded  singing  as  a  prime 
feature  of  the  performance;  but  it  was  Shake- 
speare's unique  achievement  to  employ  the  inter- 
spersed lyrics,  hitherto  superfluous  or  altogether 
irrelevant  in  Elizabethan  drama,  to  advance  the 
action,  localize  or  enrich  the  scene,  or  depict  a 
character,  and  at  times  to  express  the  emotion 
of  the  noblest  tragic  moments. 

We  have  seen  that  Shakespeare  inherited  the 
tradition  of  songs  by  the  clown,  the  vice,  or  the 
devil.  It  was  expected  that  madmen  would  sing 
on  the  stage,  and  that  the  fool  would  cap  Tom  o' 
Bedlam's  verse  (King  Lear,  III,  vi,  27ff.),  all  to 
the  infinite  delight  of  the  groundlings;  that  fairies 
and  witches  would  converse  in  a  peculiar  strain, 
half-incantation,  half-song;  and  that  other  songs 
would  be  introduced  at  the  will  of  playwright, 
manager,  or  singer,  upon  the  one  condition  that 

^  Henry  VIII  contains  the  song  "Orpheus  with  his  lyre";  but  that  is 
excluded  from  this  discussion  as  the  work,  presumably,  of  Fletcher,  since 
it  occurs  in  a  scene  which  is  usually  conceded  to  him. 

S-6. 


82  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

there  be  an  abundance  of  noise.  Shakespeare  ac- 
cepted the  legacy  of  tradition,  but  developed  the 
fool's  bauble  of  song  into  a  magician's  wand. 

In  the  large,  there  are  in  Shakespeare  no  songs 
devoid  of  dramatic  function.  Where  the  scene 
itself  is  of  trivial  consequence,  the  song  serves 
to  enliven  the  conversational  by-play,  as  when 
the  clown  toys  with  Malvolio  in  the  dungeon 
{Twelfth   Night,  IV,  ii,  78fT.) : 

Clown.     (Singing.)     "Hey,  Robin,  jolly  Robin,*;. 

Tell  me  how  thy  lady  doe's.  ' 
Malvolio.     Fool! 

Clo.     "My  lady  is  unkind,  perdy." 
Mai.    Fool! 

Clo.     "Alas,  why  is  she  so?" 
Mai    Fool,  I  say! 
Clo.     "She  loves  another"— Who  calls,  ha? 

It  is  used  by  the  nimble  Moth  to  twit  ttfp  heavy 
Don  Armado  with  his  love  (Love's  Labor's  Lost, 
I,  ii,   104ff.):  * 

If  she  be  made  of  white  and  red,  \ 

Her  faults  will  ne'er  be  known,  '** 

For  blushing  cheeks  by  faults  are  bred 
And  fears  by  pale  white  shown. 

At  times  it  assumes  the  form  of  flyting  or  of  cap- 
ping rhymes,  as  in  Jacques'  perversion  of  Amiens' 
song  {As  You  Like  It,  II,  v,  52ff.),  and  in  the  wit- 
combat  between  Rosalind  and  Boyet  {Love's  La- 
bour's Lost,  IV,  i,  127ff.); 

Ros.    Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  hit  it,  hit  it. 

Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  my  good  man. 

(Exit  (Ros.) 
Boyet.     An  I  cannot,  cannot,  cannot. 
An  I  cannot,  another  can. 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  83 

The  comment  of  Costard,  which  follows,  is  suffi- 
ciently explanatory: 

By  my  troth,  most  pleasant.     How  both  did  fit  it! 

At  times  the  dramatist  uses  the  song  in  by-play 
to  secure  the  most  humorous  scenes,  amusing  not 
for  buffoonery  but  for  revelation  of  human  nature. 
The  cowardly  Pistol  sings  (or  recites  songs)  of 
the  peril  of  war  {Henry  V,  III,  ii);  the  boisterous 
Bottom  sings  in  the  forest  to  show  his  skulking 
comrades  that  he  is  unafraid  (A  Midsummer 
NighVs  Dream,  III,  i,  128ff.).  Sir  Hugh  Evans, 
the  Welsh  parson,  half  dead  with  fear  as  he  awaits 
his  opponent  at  the  duelling  place,  sings  to  keep 
up  his  courage,  and  gets  Marlowe  confused  with 
the  Psalter  (The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  III,  i, 
llff.): 

Evans.    Pless  my  soul,  how  full  of  chollors  I  am,  and  trempling 
of  mind!     I  shall  be  glad  if  he  have  deceived  me.     How  melan- 
cholies I  am!   ....   Pless  my  soul!  (Sings.) 
"To  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals; 
There  will  we  make  our  peds  of  roses, 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies. 
To  shallow" — 
Mercy  on  me!     I  have  a  great  dispositions  to  cry. 

(Sings.) 
"Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals" — 
"When  as  I  sat  in  Pabylon" — 
"And  a  thousand  vagram  posies. 
"To  shallow,"  etc. 

(Re-enter  Simple.) 
Sim.     Yonder  he  is  coming;  this  way,  Sir  Hugh. 
Evans.     He's  welcome.  (Sings.) 

"To  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls" — 
Heaven  prosper  the  right!     What  weapons  has  he? 


84  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Indeed,  to  an  Elizabethan  audience  there  was 
something  exceedingly  droll  about  the  singing  of 
any  Welshman.  Peele  used  the  device  in  his  dis- 
jointed Edward  I;  and  Shakespeare  takes  it  up 
with  real  effectiveness  in  Henry  IV  (Part  I,  III, 
i,  233ff.),  where  an  amusing  passage,  vividly  por- 
traying Hotspur  in  an  idle  hour,  fills  up  an  other- 
wise tedious  interval: 

(The  music  plays. 

Hotspur.     Now  I  perceive  the  devil  understands  Welsh; 
And  'tis  no  marvel  he  is  so  humorous. 
By'r  lady,  he  is  a  good  musician. 

Lady  Percy.  Then  should  you  be  nothing  but  musical,  for 
you  are  altogether  governed  by  humours.  Lie  still,  ye  thief, 
and  hear  the  lady  sing  in  Welsh. 

Hot.     I  had  rather  hear  Lady,  my  brach,  howl  in  Irish. 

(Here  the  lady  sings  a  Welsh  song. 

Hot.     Come,  Kate,  I'll  have  your  song  too. 

Lady  P.     Not  mine,  in  good  sooth. 

Hot.     Not  yours,  in  good  sooth!     Heart,  you  swear  like  a 
comfit-maker's  wife .... 
Swear  me,  Kate,  like  a  lady  as  thou  art, 
A  good  mouth-filling  oath,  and  leave  "in  sooth," 
And  such  protest  of  pepper-gingerbread, 
To  velvet  guards  and  Sunday-citizens. 
Gome,  sing. 

Lady  P.     I  will  not  sing. 

Hot.  'Tis  the  next  way  to  turn  tailor,  or  be  red-breast 
teacher.  An  the  indentures  be  drawn,  I'll  away  within  these 
two  hours;  and  so,  come  in  when  ye  will.  (Exit. 

It  will  be  observed  that  we  have  as  yet  met  with 
no  songs  by  the  clown.  The  clown  songs  usually 
serve  for  special  purposes,  and  at  times  express 
the  most  serious  thoughts.  Shakespeare's  clown 
was  a  good  musician  who  sang  for  all  occasions,^ 
and  we  shall  be  obliged  to  consider  his  songs  in 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  85 

the  order  of  their  respective  functions.  A  similar 
transformation  may  be  seen  in  the  traditional 
drinking-song,  represented  in  Anthony  and  Cleo- 
patra, Henry  IV  (Part  //),  Othello,  and  Twelfth 
Night.  Only  the  drinking-songs  of  Falstaff  and 
Sir  Toby  are  free  from  the  powerful  overtones  of 
dramatic  significance  with  which  Shakespeare 
charged  his  music;  the  other  Bacchic  passages  are 
prophetic  of  impending  disaster.  Even  the  scene  ij 
in  Twelfth  Night  (II,  iii,  36ff.)  serves  for  character- 
ization more  than  for  convivial  humor.  There 
is  something  pathetically  human  about  the  gross 
old  knight  and  his  withered  dupe,  sitting  in  the 
drunken  gravity  of  midnight  to  hear  the  clown 
sing  of  the  fresh  love  of  youth: 

Clown.     Would  you  have  a  love-song,  or  a  song  of  good  life? 

Sir  Toby.     A  love-song,  a  love-song. 

Sir  Andrew.     Ay,  ay.     I  care  not  for  good  life. 

Clo.     (Sings.) 

0  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming? 

O,  stay  and  hear,  your  true  love's  coming, 

In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet  and  twenty, 
Youth's  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 
Sir  And.     A  mellifluous  voice,  as  I  am  true  knight. 
Sir  To.     A  contagious  breath. 
Sir  And.     Very  sweet  and  contagious,  i'  faith. 
Sir  To.     To  hear  by  the  nose,  it  is  dulcet  in  contagion.     But 
shall  we  make  the  welkin  dance  indeed?     Shall  we  rouse  the 
night-owl  in  a  catch  that  will  draw  three  souls  out  of  one  weaver? 
Shall  we  do  that? 

Sir  And.     An  you  love  me,  let's  do't.     I  am  dog  at  a  catch. 

The  song  is  used  once  as  an  epilogue  (Twelfth 
Night,  V,  i,  398ff.),  when  Feste,  most  lyrical  of 


86  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

clowns,  is  given  a  chance  to  commend  himself  by 
his  voice  as  well  as  his  legs;  and  it  serves  numerous 
times  to  bring  a  character  on  or  off  the  stage. 
Rosalind  escapes  from  her  word-combat  with  Boyet 
in  the  song  quoted  previously;  the  two  witch  songs 
in  Macbeth  (III,  v,  and  IV,  ii) — not  the  familiar 
chanted  speeches — are  solely  for  the  purpose  of 
facilitating  exits;  and  Autolycus  and  Ariel,  most 
musical  and  most  unlike  of  Shakespeare's  singers, 
come  and  go  in  song.  At  times  the  singing  exit 
marks  the  close  of  a  dialogue  or  scene,  as  when 
Feste  echoes  the  interludes  {Twelfth  Night,  IV, 
ii,  130ff.): 

I  am  gone,  sir, 
And  anon,  sir, 
I'll  be  with  you  again, 
In  a  trice. 
Like  to  the  old  Vice,  etc. 

At  times  the  singing  exit  marks  the  conclusion  of  a 
change  in  one  of  the  characters,  as  when  Caliban 
has  fallen  completely  under  the  influence  of  drink 
and  the  wiles  of  man  (The  Tempest,  II,  ii,  182ff.) : 

Caliban.     {Sings  drunkenly.) 

Farewell,  master;  farewell,  farewell! 
Trinculo.     A  howling  monster;  a  drunken  monster! 
Cal.     No  more  dams  I'll  make  for  fish; 
Nor  fetch  in  firing 
At  requiring; 
Nor  scrape  trenchering,  nor  wash  dish. 
'Ban,  'Ban,  Cacaliban 
Has  a  new  master,  get  a  new  man. 
Freedom,     hey-day!    hey-day,     freedom!    freedom,     hey-day, 
freedom! 
Siephano.     0  brave  monster!     Lead  the  way. 

{Exeunt. 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  87 

A  surprisingly  large  number  of  the  songs  serve 
for  what  might  be  called  pagan  ritual,  a  fact  which 
is  especially  conspicuous  because  Christian  ritual 
is  absent.  This  class  may  be  said  to  include  the 
two  witch  songs  in  Macbeth,  and  the  fairy  and 
mock-fairy  songs  in  A  Midsummer  NighVs  Dream, 
The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  and  The  Tempest; 
but  it  is  represented  more  accurately  by  the  songs 
which  occur  in  special  ceremonies,  as  in  Much  Ado 
About  Nothing  (V,  iii).  As  You  Like  It  (V,  iv),  and 
Cymbeline  (IV,  ii),  and  The  Tempest  (IV,  i).  That 
fairies  and  witches  should  sing  was  a  convention 
sufficiently  established;  but  the  frequent  occur- 
rence of  masque  or  other  musical  ceremonial  in  the 
middle  and  later  plays  is  less  easily  explained. 
No  doubt  it  is  due,  in  part,  to  the  taste  of  the 
masque-loving  age,  and  (especially  if  The  Tempest 
was  written  or  revised  for  court  performance)  to 
the  passion  which  King  James  and  his  queen  enter- 
tained for  musical  pageantry.  These  passages 
must  have  been  effective  on  the  stage,  however 
excrescent  they  may  seem  to  a  modern  reader,^ 
as  in  Much  Ado  (V,  iii,  entire  scene),  where  Don 
Pedro  and  Claudio,  with  attendants,  enter  the 
church  at  night,  bearing  torches,  to  honor  the 
memory  of  Hero,  whom  they  consider  slain  by 
slander.  An  epitaph  is  hung  on  the  tomb,  and 
this  song  is  sung: 

Pardon,  goddess  of  the  night, 
Those  that  slew  thy  virgin  knight; 


^  The  song  which  follows  is  not  without  dramatic  function,  however, 
since  it  is  part  of  the  friar's  plan  for  arousing  remorse  in  Claudio  (IV,  i,  213). 


88  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

For  the  which,  with  songs  of  woe, 
Round  about  her  tomb  they  go. 
Midnight,  assist  our  moan; 
Help  us  to  sigh  and  groan, 

Heavily,  heavily. 
Graves,  yawn  and  yield  your  dead, 
Till  death  be  uttered, 
Heavily,  heavily. 

This  leads  us  to  the  consideration  of  songs  for 
descriptive  effect  and  atmosphere.  The  duet  be- 
tween Spring  and  Winter  in  Love's  Labour's  Lost 
(V,  ii)  needs  no  quoting.  The  lark  song  in  Cym- 
beline  (II,  iii)  ushers  in  the  full  beauty  of  dawn, 
strangely  contrasted  with  the  scene  just  preceding. 
As  Dr.  Furness  remarks,  it  comes  "laden  with 
heaven's  pure,  refreshing  breath  after  the  stifling 
presence  of  lachimo  in  Imogen's  chamber."  Per- 
haps the  most  notable  examples  of  this  device 
are  the  songs  in  As  You  Like  It  (II,  v  and  vii; 
IV,  ii;  and  V,  iii).  Here  we  feel  no  lack  of  painted 
scenery.  The  sylvan  surroundings  of  the  exiled 
courtier,  the  character  of  his  comrades,  and  the 
misfortunes  of  his  noble  patron  are  condensed  into 
such  lines  as  these  (II,  vii,  174ff.): 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind. 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man's  ingratitude; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen. 
Because  thou  art  not  seen. 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh-ho!  sing,  heigh  ho!  unto  the  green  holly. 

Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly. 
Then,  heigh-ho,  the  holly! 

This  life  is  most  jolly. 

With  great  frequency  songs  are  employed  chiefly 
for   characterization.      Pandarus   betrays   himself 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  89 

by  his  mock-song  of  love  {Troilus  and  Cressida, 
III,  i),  and  Mercutio  draws  fire  from  the  old  nurse 
by  his  insinuating  snatches  {Romeo  and  Juliety 
II,  iv).  On  the  other  hand.  Benedick  ridicules  not 
love  itself,  but  his  own  power  of  song,  while  he  is 
awaiting  Beatrice  (Much  Ado,  V,  ii,  26ff.): 

(Sings.)    The  god  of  love, 
That  sits  above, 
And  knows  me,  and  knows  me, 
How  pitiful  I  deserve, — 
1  mean  in  singing;  but  in  loving,  Leander  the  good  swimmer, 
Troilus  the  first  employer  of  panders,  and  a  whole  bookful  of 
these  quondam  carpet-mongers,  whose  names  yet  run  smoothly 
in  the  even  road  of  a  blank  verse,  why,  they  were  never  so  truly 
turn'd  over  and  over  as  my  poor  self  in  love.     Marry,  I  cannot 
show  it  in  rhyme.     I  have  tried.     I  can  find  out  no  rhyme  to 
"lady"  but  "baby,"  an  innocent  rhyme;  for  "scorn,"  "horn," 
a  hard  rhyme;  "school,"  "fool,"  a  babbling  rhyme;  very  omi- 
nous endings.     No,  I  was  not  born  under  a  rhyming  planet, 
nor  I  cannot  woo  in  festival  terms. 

The  melancholy  Duke  Orsino  moves  to  melan- 
choly music.  At  the  opening  of  the  play  he  is 
listening  to  a  mournful  air,  and  in  the  next  act  he 
calls  for  a  despairing  song  of  love  (Twelfth  Night, 
II,  iv,  52ff.): 

Come  away,  come  away,  death. 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid. 

Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath; 
I  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 

My  shroud  of  white,  etc. 

The  songs  in  As  You  Like  It,  as  we  have  sug- 
gested, serve  for  characterization  as  well  as  de- 
scription. The  cynical  strain  in  Jacques  is  nowhere 
better  shown  than  in  his  parody  of  Amiens'  song 
of  sylvan  contentment  (II,  v,  52ff.): 


90  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

If  it  do  come  to  pass 

That  any  man  turn  ass, 

Leaving  his  wealth  and  ease 

A  stubborn  will  to  please, 
Ducdame,  ducdame,  ducdame! 

Here  shall  he  see 

Gross  fools  as  he, 
An  if  he  will  come  to  me. 

Not  infrequently  the  revelation  of  character  is  of 
this  sort:  the  speaker  shows  his  own  nature  by  his 
comment  on  the  song  of  another.  Honest  Benedick 
is  frank  to  admit  his  ignorance  of  music  {Much 
Ado,  II,  iii,  60ff.): 

Bene.  Now,  divine  air!  now  is  his  soul  ravish'd!  Is  it  not 
strange  that  sheeps'  guts  should  hale  souls  out  of  men's  bodies? 
Well,  a  horn  for  my  money,  when  all's  done. 

Cloten  is  bewrayed  by  his  speech  when  he  x^ova- 

ments  on  the  fresh  lyric  of  love  at  morning,  which 

he  has  caused  to  be  sung  by  Imogen's  apartments, 

in  the  effort  to  win  her  from  her  absent  lord  (Cym- 

heline,  II,  iii,  12ff.) : 

Cloten.  I  am  advised  to  give  her  music  o'  mornings;  they  say 
it  will  penetrate. 

Enter  Musicians. 

Song. 
Hark,  hark!  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings. 

And  Phoebus  gins  arise 
His  steeds  to  w^ater  at  those  springs 

On  chalic'd  flowers  that  lies; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes; 
With  every  thing  that  pretty  is. 
My  lady  sweet,  arise. 
Arise,  arise. 
{Clo.)     So,  get  you  gone.     If  this  penetrate,  I  will  consider 
your  music  the  better;  if  it  do  not,  it  is  a  vice  in  her  ears,  which 
horse-hairs  and  calves'-guts,  nor  the  voice  of  unpaved  eunuch 
to  boot,  can  never  amend. 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  91 

This  is  the  language  of  the  stable  after  the  song  of 
the  lark — violent  contrast,  but  surely  vivid  char- 
acterization. We  are  not  surprised,  shortly  after, 
when  the  speaker  plans  a  terrible  revenge  upon 
Imogen. 

The  grief  for  the  supposed  death  of  Juliet  is 
brought  out  by  Peter's  unsuccessful  appeal  to  the 
musicians  to  play  something  to  cheer  him  (Romeo 
and  Juliet,  IV,  v,  102ff.).  Othello  will  not  hear  the 
musicians  whom  Gassio  has  brought  to  his  house 
(Othello,  III,  i).  In  similar  fashion,  but  far  more 
effectively,  the  gentler  side  of  Brutus'  nature, 
which  distinguishes  the  patriot  from  his  heartless 
confederate,  is  developed  in  his  comment  on  a 
blank  song,  just  before  the  ghost  appears  in  the 
tent  (Julius  Caesar,  IV,  iii,  255ff .) : 

Brutus.     Bear  with  me,  good  boy,  I  am  much  forgetful. 
Canst  thou  hold  up  thy  heavy  eyes  a  while. 
And  touch  thy  instrument  a  strain  or  two? 

Lucius.     Ay,  my  lord,  an  't  please  you. 

Brutus.  It  does,  my  boy. 

I  trouble  thee  too  much,  but  thou  art  willing. 

(Music,  and  a  song. 
Brutus.     This  is  a  sleepy  tune.     0  murderous  slumber, 
Lay'st  thou  thy  leaden  mace  upon  my  boy. 
That  plays  thee  music?     Gentle  knave,  good-night; 
I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  wrong  to  wake  thee. 
If  thou  dost  nod,  thou  break'st  thy  instrument. 
I'll  take  it  from  thee;  and,  good  boy,  good-night. 

The  ballad  snatches  in  the  mouth  of  Ophelia, 
weirdly  contrasting  with  the  secluded  innocence 
of  her  life,  indicate  clearly  the  joint  causes  of  her 
derangement.     The  objectionable  ballads,  doubt- 


92  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

less  childhood  recollections  of  a  nurse's  songs,  are 
discordant  echoes  of  Hamlet's  defection.  The 
clown's  blundering  version  of  "The  Aged  Lover 
Renounceth  Love"  shows  his  illiteracy,  besides 
acting  as  a  melancholy  reminder  of  the  unfortu- 
nate lovers,  as  a  barrel-organ  plays  old  tunes  that 
call  up  painful  memories.  The  character  of  Ste- 
phano  is  outlined  by  his  songs  the  moment  he 
comes  upon  the  stage  {The  Tempest,  II,  ii).  His 
degrading  influence  upon  Caliban  is  foreshad- 
owed; it  is  only  a  step  before  the  poor  creature 
reels  off  the  stage  to  attempt  a  murder,  singing  of 
new-found  freedom.  The  character  of  Ariel  is  re- 
vealed to  us  almost  entirely  through  song.  He  is 
a  Greek  messenger,  telling  us  of  feats  which  he 
performs  offstage;  but  he  does  not  lift  a  hand  in 
our  presence,  except  to  attire  Prospero  (V,  i),  and 
even  that  is  done  to  music.  Much  the  same  is 
true  of  Autolycus;  in  two  successive  scenes  he 
gives  us  no  less  than  seven  different  songs  or  frag- 
ments, highly  characteristic  of  his  joyous  roguery, 
which  raises  his  whole-hearted  rascality  so  far 
above  the  common  level  that  it  partakes  of  the 
out-door  freshness  of  innocence  {The  Winter's  Tale, 
IV,  iii,  132ff.): 

Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  way, 

And  merrily  hent  the  stile-a; 
A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 

Your  sad  heart  tires  in  a  mile-a. 

When  the  songs  were   already  familiar  to  the 
audience,  they  must  have  served  for  a  naturalistic 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  93 

and  humanizing  effect.  The  insane  daughter  of  a 
Danish  courtier  seems  cold  and  distant;  but  a 
young  girl  singing  ballads  and  babbling  the  folk- 
lore of  flowers  must  have  been  very  comprehensi- 
ble to  an  Elizabethan  audience.  A  similar  effect 
must  have  been  secured  by  the  clown's  song  in 
Hamlet,  Sir  Hugh's  version  of  ''The  Passionate 
Shepherd"  in  The  Merry  Wives,  and^all  the  frag- 
ments of  balladry  that  appear  in  the  plays. 

At  times  the  song  expresses,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, the  judgment  of  characters  or  audience,  or 
any  pertinent  truth.  The  pretended  fairies  in 
The  Merry  Wives  censure  the  licentious  Falstaff 
(V,  v);  and  the  Fool's  songs,  uttered  when  prose 
counsel  would  not  have  been  tolerated,  are  the 
first  emphatic  hint  of  the  king's  real  condition 
{King  Lear,  I,  iv).  Even  more  effective  is  the 
broken  passage  of  folk-song  put  in  the  mouth  of 
the  pretended  madman,  when  Lear's  estate  has 
reached  its  lowest,  and  he  is  forced  to  enter  a  hovel 
for  shelter  from  the  storm  (III,  iv,  187ff.) : 

Child  Rowland  to  the  dark  tower  came; 
His  word  was  still,"  etc. 

There  is  reason  to  suppose  that  the  groundlings 
were  amused  by  the  incoherent  utterances  of 
Edgar.  If  there  is  more  in  it  than  entertainment, 
the  credit  is  Shakespeare's. 

The  song  is  frequently  used  to  incite  characters 
to  or  against  action.  Bassanio's  choice  of  the 
leaden  casket  is  directed  by  the  song  of  Fancy 


i 


94  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

{The  Merchant  of  Venice,  III,  ii),  as  is  indicated  by 
his  soliloquy,  beginning  (73fT.) : 

So  may  the  outward  shows  be  least  themselves; 
The  world  is  still  deceiv'd  with  ornament. 

lago  sings  two  songs  to  incite  Gassio  to  become 
drunk  before  the  brawl  with  Roderigo.  lago  re- 
mains sober  throughout  {Othello,  II,  iii,  6611.)' 

Cassio.     'Fore  God,  they  have  given  me  a  rouse  already. 
Moniano.     Good  faith,  a  little  one;  not  past  a  pint,  as  I  am 

a  soldier. 
lago.     Some  wine,  ho! 

{Sings.)    "And  let  me  the  canakin  clink,  clink; 
And  let  me  the  canakin  clink. 
A  soldier's  a  man; 
0,  man's  life's  but  a  span; 
Why,  then,  let  a  soldier  drink." 
Some  wine,  boys! 

Cas.     'Fore  God,  an  excellent  song. 

Let's  have  no  more  of  this;  let's  to  our  affairs. — God  forgive 
us  our  sins! — Gentlemen,  let's  look  to  our  business.  Do  not 
think,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  drunk.  This  is  my  ancient;  this 
is  my  right  hand,  and  this  is  my  left.  I  am  not  drunk  now; 
I  can  stand  well  enough,  and  I  speak  well  enough. 

And  so  he  staggers  off  to  his  ruinous  meeting  with 
Roderigo.  Tw6  snatches  are  sung  by  Pettuchio, 
as  part  of  his  system  for  breaking  his  wife's  tem- 
per {The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  IV,  i).  Titania.is 
put  to  sleep  and  aw^akened  by  singing  {A  Mid- 
summer Nighfs  Dream,  II,  i;  III,  i),  though  the 
latter  is  the  accidental  result  of  Bottom's  song  to 
show  his  courage.  Still,  it  serves  as  an  effective 
introduction  of  the  metamorphosed  weaver  to  the 
enamored  queen.  Ariel's  invisible  music  lulls  the 
shipwrecked   courtiers  to   sleep,   and   permits  the  ^ 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  95 

conspiracy  of  Antonio  and  Sebastian  to  develop; 
his  song  in  Gonzalo's  ear  arouses  the  old  man  in 
time  to  save  the  king  {The  Tempest,  II,  i).  Indeed,  ■, 
as  we  have  said,  Ariel's  invisible  power  is  made  i 
manifest^o  us  through  song  alone.  When  the  j 
drunken  conspirators  come  to  seek  the  life  of  ! 
Prospero,  they  attempt  to  sing  (III,  ii,  133fT.):  \ 

Caliban.     That's  not  the  tune. 

(Ariel  plays  the  tune  on  a  tabor  and  pipe. 
Stephano.     What  is  this  same? 

Trinculo.      This  is  the  tune  of  our  catch,   played   by  the 
picture  of  Nobody. 

Cal.     Be  not  afeard.     The  isle  is  full  of  noises, 
Sounds  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight  and  hurt  not. 
Sometimes  a  thousand  twangling  instruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  ears,  and  sometime  voices 
That,*  if  I  then  had  wak'd  after  long  sleep, 
Will  make  me  sleep  again;  and  then,  in  dreaming. 
The  clouds  methought  would  open  and  show  riches 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me,  that,  when  I  wak'd, 
I  cried  to  dream  again. 

Ste.     This  will  prove  a  brave  kingdom  to  me,  where  I  shall 
have  my  music  for  nothing. 

Cal.     When  Prospero  is  destroy'd. 

Ste.     That  shall  be  by  and  by.     I  remember  the  story. 

Trin.     The  sound  is  going  away.     Let's  follow  it,  and  after 
do  our  work. 

So  they  are  led  into  a  filthy  pool.      Ariel  draws¥ 
Ferdinand  from  the  coast  to  Miranda's  presence^ 
by  singing  "Come  unto  these  yellow  sands";  and 
he  persuades  the  prince  of  his  father's  death,  thus 
recalling  his  grief  and  preparing  him  for  a  new 
and  unreserved  aifection  (I,  ii,  396ff.): 

Ariel's  Song. 
Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies; 


96  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes; 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell: 

....  ....  ^p 

Ferdinand.     This  ditty  does  remember  my  drown'd  father. 

He  does  hear  me; 
And  that  he  does  I  weep.     Myself  am  Naples, 
Who  with  mine  eyes,  never  since  at  ebb,  beheld 
The  King  my  father  wreck'd. 

Miranda,  Alack,  for  mercy! 

Prospero.  At  the  first  sight 

They  have  chang'd  eyes.     Delicate  Ariel, 
I'll  set  thee  free  for  this. 

At  times  the  song  is  used  to  heighten  the  emo- 
tion of  a  special  situation,  as  well  as  to  incite  'to 
action,   as  in   Ophelia's  ravings   (Hamlet,   IV,  *v, 

1641T.): 

"They  bore  him  barefac'd  on  the  bier; 
Hey  non  nonny,  nonny,  hey  nonny; 
And  on  his  grave  rains  many  a  tear," — 
Fare  you  well,  my  dove ! 

Laertes.     Hadst  thou  thy  wits  and  didst  persuade  revenge, 
It  could  not  move  thus. 

Ophelia.     There's  rosemary,  that's  for  remembrance;  pray, 
love,  remember;  and  there  is  pansies,  that's  for  thoughts. 

(Sings.) 
•  "And  will  he  not  come  again? 

And  will  he  not  come  again? 
No,  no,  he  is  dead; 
Go  to  thy  death-bed; 
He  never  will  come  again." 

Laertes,     Do  you  see  this,  you  gods? 

And    when    Claudius    suggests    that    Laertes    kill 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  97 

Hamlet,  by  fair  fight  or  by  poison,  the  young  man 
is  ready  for  either  means  of  revenge. 

At  times  the  song  serves  for  heightened  emotion, 
without  incitement  to  action.  The  songs  of  Edgar 
before  the  hovel  serve  this  purpose  {King  Lear, 
III,  iv,  187ff.).  The  serenade  to  Silvia  is  over- 
heard by  Julia,  disguised  in  boy's  clothing,  and  it 
gives  her  intense  pain;  for  it  is  the  token  of  her 
lover's  falsehood,  the  libation  which  fickle  Proteus 
is  pouring  on  a  new  shrine  (The  Two  Gentlemen  of 
Verona,  IV,  ii,  30ff.) : 

Host.     Come,  we'll  have  you  merry.     I'll  bring  you  where  you 
shall  hear  music  and  see  the  gentleman  that  you  ask'd  for. 
Julia.     But  shall  I  hear  him  speak? 
Host.     Ay,  that  you  shall. 

Jul.     That  will  be  music.  {Music  plays.) 

Host.     Hark,  hark! 
Jul.     Is  he  among  these? 
Host.     Ay;  but,  peace!  let's  hear  'em. 

Song. 
Who  is  Silvia?     What  is  she. 

That  all  our  swains  commend  her? 
Holy,  fair,  and  wise  is  she; 

The  heaven  such  grace  did  lend  her, 
That  she  might  admired  be. 


Host.  How  now!  are  you  sadder  than  you  were  before? 
How  do  you,  man?     The  music  likes  you  not. 

Jul.     You  mistake;  the  musician  likes  me  not. 

Host.  ^  Why,  my  pretty  youth? 

Jul.     He  plays  false,  father. 

Host.     How?     Out  of  tune  on  the  strings? 

Jul.  Not  so;  but  yet  so  false  that  he  grieves  my  very  heart- 
strings. 

Host.     Hark,  what  a  fme  change  is  in  the  music! 

Jul.     Ay,  that  change  is  the  spite. 

Host.     You  would  have  them  always  play  but  one  thing? 

Jul.     I  would  always  have  one  play  but  one  thing. 

S— 7. 


98  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

The  disconsolate  grief  of  the  deserted  Mariana 
finds  utterance  in  the  song  a  boy  sings  for  her  at 
the  moated  grange  {Measure  for  Measure,  IV,  i, 

Iff.): 

Take,  0,  take  those  lips  away, 

That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn; 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day, 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn; 
But  my  kisses  bring  again,  bring  again; 
Seals  of  love,  but  seal'd  in  vain,  seal'd  in  vain. 

Of  a  similar  kind  is  the  dirge  for  Imogen  in  the 
forest.  After  hastening  to  meet  Posthumus  and 
finding  that  he  has  ordered  her  death,  after  being 
pursued  by  Cloten  and  drugged  into  insensibility 
by  the  cordial  which  the  queen  has  sent  her  for 
poison,  she  lies  as  if  dead.  The  poignancy  of  the 
situation  is  intensified  by  the  fact  that  the  singers 
are  disguised  princes,  her  brothers,  ignorant  of 
her  birth  and  theirs,  and  their  supposed  father  is 
a  banished  nobleman  (Cymbeline,  IV,  ii,  258ff .) : 

Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun. 

Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages; 
Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done. 

Home  art  gone,  and  ta'en  thy  wages. 
Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must. 
As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 

Fear  no  more  the  frown  o'  the  great; 

Thou  art  past  the  tyrant's  stroke. 
Care  no  more  to  clothe  and  eat; 

To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak. 

Fear  not  slander,  censure  rash; 
Thou  hast  fmish'd  joy  and  moan. 

Not  only  is  the  song  used  to  heighten  the  scene 
in  which  it  occurs,  but  it  may  at  the  same  time 


SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE  99 

foreshadow  what  is  to  come.  The  clown's  song 
in  Airs  Well  that  Ends  Well  (I,  iii,  741!.)  possibly 
serves  for  this  purpose;  for  Helena  is  the  one 
good  woman  in  ten.  A  clearer  example,  where 
frailty  of  the  opposite  sex  is  charged,  is  found  in 
Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  where  the  song  serves 
to  foreshadow  the  jealousy  of  Glaudio  (II,  iii, 
64ff .) : 

Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more. 

Men  were  deceivers  ever. 
One  foot  in  sea  and  one  on  shore, 

To  one  thing  constant  never. 
Then  sigh  not  so,  but  let  them  go. 

And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny, 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 

Into  Hey  nonny  nonny. 


Benedick.  ...  I  pray  God  his  bad  voice  bode  no  mischief. 
I  had  as  lief  have  heard  the  night-raven,  come  what  plague 
could  have  come  after  it. 

Don  Pedro.  Yea,  marry;  dost  thou  hear,  Balthasar?  I  pray 
thee,  get  us  some  excellent  music;  for  to-morrow  night  we  would 
have  it  at  the  Lady  Hero's  chamber-window. 

In  Anthony  and  Cleopatra  (II,  vii,  120ff.),  the 
drinking  song  is  rendered,  with  joined  hands  and 
drunken  good  fellowship,  shortly  before  the  final 
quarrel  of  the  triumvirs.  The  forced  air  of  con- 
viviality but  thinly  covers  the  increasing  animosity; 
the  host  of  the  evening  is  tempted  to  slay  his 
guests  and  make  himself  lord  of  Rome,  and  the 
man  who  places  the  singers  hand  in  hand  for  the 
song  is  no  other  than  Enobarbus,  who  later  deserts 
Anthony  at  his  greatest  need.  Perhaps  the  most 
familiar  example  of  this  lyric  foreboding  is  the 
song   of  Desdemona  {Othello,  IV,  iii,  41fT.): 


100  SONGS    IN    SHAKESPEARE 

Desdemona.     (Singing.) 

"The  poor  soul  sat  sighing  by  a  sycamore  tree. 

Sing  all  a  green  willow; 
Her  hand  on  her  bosom,  her  head  on  her  knee, 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow. 
The  fresh  streams  ran  by  her,  and  murmur'd  her  moans; 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow; 
Her  salt  tears  fell  from  her,  and  soft'ned  the  stones; 

Let  nobody  blame  him,  his  scorn  I  approve," — 
Nay,  that's  not  the  next. — Hark!  who  is  't  that  knocks? 
Emilia.     It's  the  wind. 
Des.    (Singing.) 

"I  call'd  my  love  false  love;  but  what  said  he  then? 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow. 
If  I  court  moe  women,  you'll  couch  with  moe  men." — 
So,  get  you  gone;  good-night.     Mine  eyes  do  itch; 
Doth  that  bode  weeping? 

This  song  is  beautifully  echoed  in  the  dying  words 
of  Emilia,  which  confirm  Othello's  resolution  to 
slay  himself  (V,  ii,  246ff.): 

Emilia.  What  did  thy  song  bode,  lady? 

Hark,  canst  thou  hear  me?     I  will  play  the  swan. 
And  die  in  music.     (Singing.)     "Willow,  willow,  willow!" — 
Moor,  she  was  chaste;  she  lov'd  thee,  cruel  Moor; 
So  come  my  soul  to  bliss,  as  I  speak  true; 
So  speaking  as  I  think,  alas,  I  die. 

Equally  effective  dramatically,  though  far  less  not- 
able as  poetry,  are  the  songs  of  Master  Silence 
which  foreshadow  the  disgrace  of  Falstaff  (Henry 
IV,  Part  II,  V,  iii,  18ff.;  v,  51ff.): 

Silence.     (Singing.) 

"Do  nothing  but  eat,  and  make  good  cheer, 
And  praise  God  for  the  merry  year, 
When  flesh  is  cheap  and  females  dear. 
And  lusty  lads  roam  here  and  there 

So  merrily. 
And  ever  among  so  merrily." 


DEFENCE    OF   THE    STAGE  101 

Falstaff.     There's    a   merry    heart!     Good    Master    Silence, 
I'll  give  you  a  health  for  that  anon. 

What,  is  the  old  king  dead? 

Pistol.     As  nail  in  door.     The  things  I  speak  are  just. 

FaL  Away,  Bardolph!  saddle  my  horse.  Master  Robert 
Shallow,  choose  what  office  thou  wilt  in  the  land,  'tis  thine.  .  .  . 
Garry  Master  Silence  to  bed.  Master  Shallow,  my  Lord 
Shallow, — be  what  thou  wilt;  I  am  Fortune's  steward — get  on 
my  boots.     We'll  ride  all  night. 

King.     I  know  thee  not,  old  man;  fall  to  thy  prayers. 
How  ill  white  hairs  become  a  fool  and  jester! 
I  have  long  dream'd  of  such  a  kind  of  man. 
So  surfeit-swell'd,  so  old,  and  so  profane; 
But,  being  awak'd,  I  do  despise  my  dream. 


We  have  seen  that  Shakespeare  was  virtually 
the  first  Elizabethan  dramatist  to  make  systematic 
employment  of  the  song  for  dramatic  purposes; 
that  he  used  either  blank,  fragmentary,  or  com- 
plete songs  in  all  of  the  plays  but  nine,  of  which 
several  are,  at  least  in  part,  by  other  hands;  that 
his  songs  are  inseparable  from  the  context,  and 
that  even  the  few  blank  ones  are  closely  imbedded 
in  the  conversation,  if  not  indeed  the  action,  of 
the  scene;  and  that  they  serve  not  for  the  gross 
humor  of  boisterous  clownage  or  of  raving  mad- 
ness, but  for  the  subtle  and  delightful  portrayal 
of  human  nature,  the  enrichment  of  scene  or  atmo- 
sphere, the  expression  of  thought  or  mood  inappro- 
priate for  the  speeches,  the  motivation  of  action, 
the  heightening  of  emotional  effect,  and  the  fore- 
shadowing of  what  is  to  come.  In  at  least  one  case 
the  song  projects  our  imaginations  not  merely 
into  the  next  scene  or  act,  but  beyond   the  end 


102  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

of  the  play  into  the  future  which  is  yet  unrevealed. 
Ariel,  never  actually  free  during  the  action  of 
The  Tempest,  on  account  of  the  exigencies  of  the 
situation,  is  allowed,  after  Prospero  has  again 
promised  him  freedom,  to  give  us  a  glimpse  of  his 
fairy  life  in  the  years  that  are  to  come  (V,  i,  88ff .) : 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I. 

In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie; 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry. 

On  a  bat's  back  I  do  fly 

After  summer  merrily. 
Merrily,  merrily  shall  I  live  now 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 

"The    words  of    Mercury   are  harsh    after    the 
songs  of  Apollo." 


\ 


AN  ELIZABETHAN  DEFENCE  OF  THE 

STAGE 

Karl  Young 


Nothing  in  the  annals  of  Elizabethan  literature 
is  more  familiar  than  the  special  Puritan  attack^ 
upon  the  stage  that  wore  on  through  a  decade 
or  two  after  the  erection  of  The  Theatre  and  The 
Curtain  in  the  Liberties  of  London  in  1576-77. 
The  pamphlet  invectives  of  Northbrooke,  Gosson, 
and  Stubbes  are,  indeed,  greatly  to  be  cherished, 
not  only  as  capital  illustrations  of  the  perennial 
spirit  of  Puritanism,  but  also  as  invaluable  com- 
munications concerning  the  type  of  audience  and 
the  sort  of  dramatic  material  with  which  Shake- 
speare and  his  early  competitors  were  concerned. 

It  is  too  often  assumed,  however,  that  the  attack 
was  directed  indiscriminately  against  the  whole 
dramatic  species,  and  that  for  the  Puritan  the 
phrase  '*vain  plays  and  interludes"  was  all-inclu- 
sive. The  corrective  for  such  a  view  of  the  matter 
may  be  illustrated  from  the  famous  Treatise  of 
Northbrooke  himself,  for  he  can  describe  at  least 
one  kind  of  play  in  which  there  is  no  guile: 

I  thinke  it  is  lawefuU  for  a  schoolmaster  to  practise  his  schol- 
lers  to  playe  comedies,  obseruing  these  and  the  Uke  cautions: 
first,  that  those  comedies  which  they  shall  play  be  not  mixt  with 

[103  1 


104  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

anye  ribaudrie  and  filthie  termes  and  wordes  (which  corrupt 
good  manners).  Secondly,  that  it  be  for  learning  and  vtterance 
sake,  in  Latine,  and  very  seldome  in  Englishe.  Thirdly,  that 
they  vse  not  to  play  commonly  and  often,  but  verye  rare  and 
seldome.  Fourthlye,  that  they  be  not  pranked  and  decked  vp  in 
gorgious  and  sumptious  apparell  in  their  play.  Fiftly,  that  it  be 
not  made  a  common  exercise,  publickly,  for  profit  and  gaine  of 
money,  but  for  learning  and  exercise  sake.  And  lastly,  that 
their  comedies  be  not  mixte  with  vaine  and  wanton  toyes  of 
loue.     These  being  obserued,  I  iudge  it  toUerable  for  schollers.^ 

From  such  an  utterance  it  appears  that  North- 
brooke's  mind  was  at  rest  in  regard  to  the  Latin 
drama  of  the  schools  and  universities;  and  it  would 
seem  natural  for  the  earnest  controversialist  to 
assume  that  the  plays  produced  in  the  halls  of 
Oxford  and  Cambridge  should  be  pure  in  purpose 
and  effect,  and  that  at  the  University,  at  least, 
one  need  stir  no  quarrel  over  the  immorality  of  the 
drama.  Such  an  assumption,  however,  was  not 
justified  by  fact;  for  the  universities  not  only 
joined  hands  with  London  Puritans  in  condemning 
the  public  performances  of  ''common  players"; 
they  also  developed  a  substantial  private  contro- 
versy over  plays  written  and  performed  within 
their  own  walls  "for  learning  and  vtterance  sake, 
in  Latine." 

Of  this  controversy  the  most  conspicuous  evi- 
dence is  from  Oxford,  and  the  narrative  begins 
with  the  performance  of  three  Latin  plays  of  Wil- 
liam Gager  in  the  hall  of  Christ  Church  at  Shrove- 
tide, 1592:  on  Sunday,  February  5,  Ulysses 
Redux;  on  Monday,  February  6,  Riuales;  on  Tues- 
day, February  7,  an  adaptation  of  Seneca's   Hip- 

*  Publications  of  the  Shakespeare  Society,  London,  1843,  p.  104. 


DEFENCE    OF    THE    STAGE  105 

polytus.  To  witness  these  performances,  Dr. 
Thomas  Thornton,  a  friend  and  colleague  of  Gager, 
had  twice  invited  the  learned  Dr.  John  Rainolds, 
of  Queen's  College.  Irritated  by  the  repeated  in- 
vitation. Dr.  Rainolds  sent  to  Dr.  Thornton,  on 
Monday,  February  6,  a  letter  in  which  he  set  forth 
his  reasons  for  declining.  Without  showing  this 
letter  to  Gager,  Thornton  merely  informed  him 
later  that  Rainolds  had  civilly  declined  on  the 
ground  that  it  was  not  his  habit  to  attend  plays. 
At  the  close  of  the  third  play,  on  Tuesday,  Feb- 
ruary 7,  Gager  brought  upon  the  stage  the  comic 
figure  of  Momus,  who  not  only  passed  severe 
strictures  upon  Gager's  three  plays,  but  also  took 
an  extreme  position  in  opposition  to  acting  and 
plays  in  general.  This  dramatic  device  included 
an  Epilogus  Responsivus,  in  which  the  objections 
of  Momus  were  deftly  met  and  held  up  for  ridicule. 
Although  the  "devyse  of  Momus"  had  been  "con- 
ceyved  and  penned  longe  before"  Rainolds  wrote 
to  Thornton,  had  been  shown  to  the  latter  **a 
monthe  before,"  and  had  been  intended  merely  as 
"a  iest  to  serve  a  turn,"^  the  similarity  between 
the  main  arguments  advanced  in  Rainolds'  letter 
and  certain  objections  ridiculously  uttered  by 
Momus  gave  offence  to  the  learned  scholar  of 
Queen's  College,  induced  between  Rainolds  and 
Gager  a  correspondence  of  which  the  earlier  part 
has  been  lost,  and  inspired  a  sermon  by  an  unknown 
young  fellow  of  Queen's  College  upon  the  text  in 

^  The  quotations  in  this  sentence  are  from  Gager's  unpublished  letter  to 
Rainolds  preserved  in  Corpus  Ghristi  College  Ms.,  352,  p.  42. 


106  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Deuteronomy  xxii,  5,  which  forbids  men  to  assume 
the  apparel  of  women.  It  was  probably  these  un- 
friendly outbursts  that  prompted  Gager  to  publish, 
in  May,  1592,  the  text  of  Ulysses  Redux,  including 
Momus  and  an  enlarged  version  of  the  Epilogus 
Responsivus,  and  to  send  a  presentation  copy  to 
Rainolds.  In  acknowledgment  of  his  gift  Gager 
received  a  long  letter,  dated  July  10,  1592,  in 
which  Rainolds  reaffirmed  and  amplified  the  ob- 
jections to  plays  previously  advanced  in  his  letter 
to  Thornton  and  echoed, — derisively,  as  it  had 
seemed, — from  the  lips  of  Momus.  To  this  com- 
munication Gager  replied,  on  July  31,  in  a  long  and 
notable  letter,  in  which  Rainolds'  censorious  argu- 
ments were  met  point  by  point  with  ample  scholar- 
ship and  good  temper.  Although  Gager  concluded 
his  letter  by  expressing  the  hope  that  his  corres- 
pondent would  thenceforth  confine  the  controversy 
to  *'pryvatt  conference,"  and  would  desist  from 
"furder  replye  in  wrytinge,"^  Rainolds  returned  to 
the  attack,  on  May  30,  1593,  with  a  letter  of  por- 
tentous bulk  and  truculence.  This  document  con- 
sists essentially  in  a  minute  dissection  of  Gager's 
letter,  rather  than  in  substantial  additions  to  the 
matter  of  the  argument.  To  this  violent  utterance 
Gager  offered  no  reply,  and  with  it  the  direct  con- 
troversy between  the  two  men  ceased.  ^ 


1  Corpus  Christi  College  MS.  352,  p.  65. 

2  An  admirable  account  of  this  controversy  is  given  by  F.  S.  Boas, 
University  Drama  in  the  Tudor  Age,  Oxford,  1914,  pp.  229-251.  The  highly 
technical  continuation  of  it  by  Rainolds  and  Albericus  Gentilis  is  recounted 
by  Boas,  pp.  244-248. 


DEFENCE    OF   THE    STAGE  107 

From  this  outline  it  appears  that  the  chief  docu- 
ments in  the  debate  are  the  following: 
(1)  Rainolds'  letter  to  Thornton,  dated  February 

6,  1592; 

(2)  Gager's  device  of  Momus,  acted  on  February 

7,  1592; 

(3)  Rainolds'   letter  to   Gager,   dated  July   10, 
1592; 

(4)  Gager's  letter  to  Rainolds,  dated  July  31, 
1592; 

(5)  Rainolds'  second  letter  to  Gager,  dated  May 
30,  1593. 

Of  these  writings  three  have  been  published.  As 
we  have  observed  above,  the  text  of  Gager's 
Momus  appeared  among  the  appendices  of  his 
Ulysses  Redux,  published  at  Oxford  in  May, 
1592.  The  two  letters  addressed  by  Rainolds  to 
Gager  occupy  the  greater  part  of  a  little  volume 
bearing  the  courageous  title,  Th'  overthrow  \  of 
Stage-Playes,  \  By  the  way  of  controversie  betwixt  \  D. 
Gager  andD.  Rainoldes,  wherein  all  the  reasons  \  that 
can  be  made  for  them  are  notably  refuted;  tK  ob-  \  jec- 
tions  aunswered,  and  the  case  so  cleared  and  re-  \  solved, 
as  that  the  iudg ement  of  any  man,  that  \  is  not  froward 
and  perverse,  may  \  easelie  be  satisfied.  \  Wherein  is 
manifestly  proved,  that  it  is  not  only  vnlaw-  \  full  to  bee 
an  Actor,  but  a  beholder  \  of  those  vanities,  \  Wherevnto 
are  added  also  and  annexed  in  th'  end  certeine  latine  I 
Letters  betwixt  the  sayed  Maister  Rainoldes,  and  D.  \ 
Gentiles,  Reader  of  the  CivillLaw  in  Oxford,  |  concer- 
ning the  same  matter.  \  1599.  In  1600  the  sheets  of 
this  volume  were  reissued,  with   a  fresh  title-page 


108  DEFENCE    OF    THE    STAGE 

that  names  Middleburgh  as  the  place  of  publi- 
cation; and  in  1629  a  new  edition  appeared  from 
the  press  of  Oxford  University 

Strangely  enough,  the  first  and  fourth  docu- 
ments in  the  controversy  have  never  been  printed. 
This  neglect  can  scarcely  be  due  to  a  lack  of  in- 
herent importance;  for  in  his  letter  of  February  6 
to  Thornton,  Rainolds  carefully  defines  his  posi- 
tion, and  either  outlines  or  mentions  the  issues 
that  form  the  frame-work  of  the  subsequent  dis- 
pute; and  Gager's  letter  of  July  31  to  Rainolds 
constitutes  the  one  explicit  and  substantial  reply 
to  Rainolds'  attack.  With  inevitable  interest, 
then,  one  turns  to  these  letters  themselves.  Rain- 
olds writes  as  follows:^ 

Syr  because  your  curteous  inviting  of  me  yesterdaye  againe 
to  your  plaies  dothe  she  we  you  were  not  satisfied  w/th  my 
answer  and  reason  therof  before  geven,  why  I  might  not  be  at 
them:  I  have  thought  good  by  writinge  to  open  that  vnto 
yow  which,  if  tyme  had  served  to  vtter  them  by  word  of  mouthe, 
I  doute  not  but  yow  would  haue  rested  satisfied  therwzth:  fTor 
both  I  perceaued  by  that  your  selfe  spake  of  men  in  wemens 
raiment,  that  some  of  your  players  were  so  to  be  attired:  &  that 
you  acknow^ledged,  that,  if  this  were  unlaw^full,  I  might  iustlie 
be  vnwilling  to  approve  it  by  my  presence.  Now  for  myne 
owne  parte  in  deed  I  am  perswaded  that  it  is  vnlawfull  because 
the  scripture  saythe  a  woman  shall  not  weare  that  whiche  pertaineth 

^  Corpus  Christi  College  MS.  352,  pp.  11-14.  The  letter  is  headed  as 
follows:  A  Letter  of  Dr  J.  Rainolds  to  Dr  W"^  Gager  (LL.D.)  shewing  his 
reasons  why  he  did  not  accept  his  invitation  to  see  his  play  acted.  1^^  Reason 
taken  from  the  unlawfulness  of  wearing  a  habitt  proper  to  a  different  sex. 
2^^  because  acted  on  {/<  Lords  day,  S^y  from  y^  doubts  of  his  own  mind.  Another 
hand  has,  very  properly,  deleted  the  words  Dr.  W"^  Gager  (LL.D.)  and  has 
substituted  the  following:  an  unknown  friend  forson  Tho.  Thornton,  vid. 
Ath.  Oxon.  1st  i;ol.  pages  409  &  754  &  Di"  Rainold'  answ^  to  Dr  Gager  in  his 
Ovthrow  of  Stage  plays  p.  1  &  lb.  p.  49.  The  same  letter,  with  trifling  va- 
riants, is  found  in  Bodleian  MS.  Tanner  77,  fol.  35r-36v.  where  it  bears 
the  following  heading:  A  letter  of  D.  Rainolds  to  D.  Thornton  who  requested 
him  to  see  a  stage  playe.  In  my  text  from  C.C.C.  MS.  352  I  omit  Rainolds' 
marginal  references  to  his  authorities. 


SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES  109 

to  a  man,  nether  shall  a  man  put  on  womans  raiment:  for  all 
that  do  so  ar  abhomination  to  the  lord  thy  god:  ffor  this  being 
spoken  generally  of  all,  and  haueing  no  exception  of  plaies  in 
the  scripture  (for  ought  that  I  knowe)  must  be  taken  generallie, 
as  ment  of  them  also :  according  to  the  rule  obserued  in  humaine 
lawes,  but  reaching  to  divine  by  equall  force  of  reason;  that 
we  may  not  distinguishe  wher  the  lawe  distinguisheth  not  and 
things  being  generallie  set  downe  without  distinction  ar  to  be 
likwyse  taken:  Else  as  the  sluggard  saithe  w/th  himself,  a  title 
sleepe,  a  title  slumber,  a  title  folding  of  the  hands,  against  the 
generall  prohibition  and  restraint  of  slouthfullnes :  so  against 
the  generall  prohibition  of  idolatrie  may  the  papist  saye,  a  title 
worshipping  of  images:  of  adulterie,  the  whoremonger,  a  title 
single  fornication  of  theft,  the  covetous  wretch,  a  little  simonie, 
briberie,  userie.  Nether  am  I  moved  by  this  reason  onelie  to 
think  that  as  no  breache  of  these  co/77manndements  is  lawfull, 
so  nether  of  the  other,  no  not  in  plaies  and  spectacles,  but  also 
by  the  iudgment  of  such  christian  writers,  as  I  dare  not  dissent 
from,  vnlesse  I  se  them  cleerlie  convinced  of  error  by  the  word: 
Caluin  as  sounde  and  learned  an  interpreter  of  the  scriptures 
as  anie  synce  the  apostles  times  in  my  opinion  after  he  had 
shewed  the  daunger  of  vnmodest  wanto/ines  and  wickednesse 
for  which'  the  Lord  forbideth  men  and  wemen  to  chaunge  rai- 
ment: for  most  true  {saith  he)  is  that  profane  poets  saying: 
Quern  prestare  potest  mulier  galeata  pudorem,  In  which,  word  sith 
Juvenal  condemneth  Romane  wemen  who  wzth  helmet  on  did 
learne  to  playe  theire  warlike  parts  in  games  like  fensers;  and 
Caluin  saith  that  Moses  controlleth  in  both  sexes  the  proportion 
of  that  which  Juvenal  doth  in  one:  it  followeth  that  Caluin 
thought  men  to  be  forbidden  by  the  lawe  of  God,  to  weare  a 
ffrench  hoode  or  other  habiliments  of  wemen,  yea  though  in 
plaies  and  enterludes.  Hyperius  whose  writings  ar  iustlie 
commended,  as  most  sound  and  leared  too,  in  a  treatise  pur- 
poselie  made  against  abuses  [p.  12]  of  these  shroft-tide  daliances, 
saith  the  same  directlie,  affirming  that  mens  wering  of  wemens 
raiment  in  such  sort  is  plainlie  pronounced  abhominable  by 
that  lawe  as  a  greater  sine  then  commonlie  is  thought:  In 
like  sort  doth  Cyprian  urge  it  against  a  stage-plaier,  saying 
that  by  the  lawe  men  ar  forbidden  to  put  on  a  womens  garment: 
and  such  as  do  it  are  iudged  accursed.  In  lyke  sorte  Tertullian 
not  vpon  occasion  of  anie  one  stage  player,  making  a  trade  of  it 
but  generallie  touching  stage-playes.  And  Chrysostom  en- 
treating of  the  manifold  staines  wherwzth  the  ar  blemished,  and 
rekenninge   there   amongst   satanicall,   diuelish  apparrell  doth 


110  DEFENCE    OF    THE    STAGE 

touch  With  this  sharpe  and  peremtorie  censure  men  wearing 
wemens  attire,  as  appeareth  by  the  words  following  compared 
with  tliat  other  wher  he  noteth  of  the  lawe  condemning  this 
offence  in  men:  Ffinallie  the  byshops  to  the  number  of  aboue 
two  himdred  &  twenty  assembled  in  the  Emperors  palace  at 
Constantinople,  the  sixt  generall  counsell  not  thinkinge  it 
enougli  to  forbid  this  abuse  receaued  then  in  playes  and  pag- 
eants, did  decree  farder  {which  argueth  how  grevous  a  crime 
they  demede  it)  that  whafsoeuer  man  did  put  on  wemens  raiment y 
if  he  were  of  the  clergie,  he  should  be  degraded:  if  of  the  laitie 
excommunicated.  Now  whatsoeuer  weight  this  iudgment  of 
the  church  shall  haue  in  youre  eyes,  or  whatsoeuer  iudgment 
youre  self  haue  of  the  text  of  scripture  which  I  reste  on:  yow 
se  that  I,  thinking  the  thinge  to  be  vnlawfull,  shall  sinne  (yf  I 
approved  it)  at  least,  in  doinge  of  that  which  is  not  of  faith  if 
not  in  hauinge  fellowship  with  the  vnfruitfull  workes  of  darknes, 
and  this  for  that  one  circumstance  which  your  self  mentioned, 
and  toucheth  (it  may  be)  all  youre  plaies.  Or,  if  it  do  not,  yet 
there  ar  so  manie  circumstances  beside,  some  wherof  do  touch 
all  cheiflie  beinge  set  forth,  with  such  preparation,  and  charge, 
as  youres  ar,  that  although  my  self  perhaps  might  behold  them 
w/thout  takinge  harme,  yet  should  I  feare  the  daunger,  which 
by  my  example  might  be  bred  to  others  if  I  were  present  at 
them.  The  qualitie  and  importance  of  these  sundrie  circum- 
stances, some  in  the  matter,  some  in  the  forme,  some  otherwise 
often  hurtfuU,  as  lamentable  experience  by  effects  and  con- 
sequences hath  shewed  in  too  manie,  what  players  what  be- 
holders: nether  doth  want  of  laysure  permit  me  now  to  open, 
nor  is  it  needfull  to  yow,  who  knowe  what  hath  beene  written 
herof  by  godlie  fathers  not  onelie  those  I  named  but  also 
Lactantius  Basill  Epiphanius,  Am.brose  Austin,  others:  for 
though  it  be  true  that  some  of  their  speaches  reprove  the 
Gentiles  stage-plaies,  and  note  some  fawts  also  that  oures  ar 
free  frome  peradventure :  yet  manie  [p.  13]  of  their  reasons  doe 
touch  oizres  as  neearlie,  as  may  be  proved  as  soundlie  as  the 
former  of  wemens  raiment,  nether  ar  reiected  more  iustlie  by 
stage  patrones,  then  scriptures  and  fathers  reproving  Idole 
worship  ar  cast  of  by  Bellarmin,  as  checkinge  Jewish  or  heathen- 
ish idoles  not  CathoUke  images  of  the  Papists.  Howbeit  were  it 
onelie  some  of  the  fathers  iudgment  grounded  (as  I  thinke) 
vpon  scripture:  you  see  againe  the  bond  of  dutie  in  me  to 
refraine  from  that  which  in  my  conscience  God  condemneth; 
Cheiflie  it  beinge  condemned  by  godlie  lawes  of  Emperours  too, 
at  least  in  us,  and  by  cannons  of  councells  yea  by  the  canon 


DEFENCE    OF   THE    STAGE  111 

lawe  in  corrupter  times,  and  Popish  counsels  of  late  yeares, 
yea  seing  {which  is  more)  the  verie  light  of  reason  hath  taught 
whole  common  weales  of  heathens  some  to  counte  the  actors 
thereof  infamous  persons,  some  to  reiecte  the  plaies  themselves: 
as  Philosophers  also  and  politit[i]ans  haue  done.  That  I  should 
be  affraide  least  St.  Paules  reprofe  in  a  like  matter.  Doth  not 
nature  it  self  teach  yow:  wold  make  me  to  blush,  if  I  should 
giue  countenaunce  to  that  which  naturall  men  by  the  instincte 
of  common  humanitie  and  care  of  vertue  haue  blamed  as  vnfit 
for  honest  civil  states.  To  conclud,  howsoeuer  these  reasons 
and  persuasions  all  might  be  repliede  to,  yet  the  daye  is  suche, 
as  the  profaninge  of  it  being  most  offensiue  in  the  eyes  of  the 
faithfull  who  call  for  the  sanctifieinge  of  the  Sabbat,  would  force 
me  to  request  yow  to  haue  me  excused.  The  rather  for  that 
Theodosius  and  Valentinian  with  other  Christian  Emperours 
who  tolerated  stage-plaies,  yet  ordained  by  lawe  that  the  should 
not  be  vsed  in  anie  case  on  sundaye  The  Lords  day  as  after  the 
scripture  phrase  they  terme  it.  Wherin  how  much  ther  is  to 
be  consydered  by  vs  we  shall  perceaue  the. better,  if  we  marke 
that  god  would  not  haue  the  worke  of  his  owne  sanctuarie  to 
let  or  interrupt  the  Sabbat  dales  rest  as  Tremellius,  &  Junius 
well  obserue;  much  lesse  such  worke,  as  this,  which  of  all  likly- 
hoode  the  necessarye  dressing  vp  of  youre  stage  &  players  dothe 
require  this  daye.  [p.  14]  Thus  haue  I  beene  bould  for  the 
care  I  haue  of  approvinge,  if  not  my  iudgment,  myne  action  at 
least  vnto  yow,  whome  for  manie  causes  I  reverence  &  love,  to 
seeke  to  satisfie  yow,  least  yow  should  misdeme  me  to  trans- 
gresse  the  precept.  Be  not  thou  Just  over  much,  while  I  studie 
only  to  obserue  the  other  Be  not  thou  wicked  over  much.  Which 
praying  yow  to  interpret  and  take  all  in  the  best  part  as  I 
doute  not  but  yow  will,  I  commend  yow  to  the  gracious  blessinge 
of  the  highest,  who  gaue  vs  eyes  to  see  what  is  acceptable  in 
his  sight,  and  willing  harts  to  do  it.  Queenes  college  Febn 
6.  1591. 

The  main  positions  taken  by  Rainolds  appear 
to  be  the  following: 

1.  The  wearing  of  women's  apparel  by  men  is 
condemned  by  Scripture,  by  Christian  writers, 
and  by  Church  councils. 

2.  The  acting  of  plays  entails  an  undue  waste  of 
time  and  money. 


112  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

3.  Plays  have  a  vicious  moral  effect  upon  actors 
and  audience. 

4.  Actors  were  considered  "infamous  persons'* 
even  by  the  civil  law  of  "whole  common  weales  of 
heathens." 

5.  The  performance  of  plays  on  the  Sabbath  is 
a  profanation  of  the  day. 

These  fundamental  contentions,  supported  with 
amplitude  and  erudition  in  Rainolds'  two  letters 
to  Gager,  subsequently  printed  and  reprinted,  are 
aptly  met  in  the  substantial  manuscript  letter  of 
Gager  with  which  we  are  now  concerned.  Unhap- 
pily the  length  of  this  humane  document  precludes 
the  full  printing  of  it  on  the  present  occasion.  An 
adequate  conception  of  its  tone  and  content,  how- 
ever, may  be  formed  from  illustrative  passages.^ 

Following  the  order  of  the  strictures  in  Rainolds' 
letter  to  Thornton,  we  observe,  in  the  first  place, 
that  Gager  was  well  aware  of  the  scriptural  tra- 
dition condemning  men's  wearing  the  apparel  of 
women,  and  that  he  was  provided  with  a  broad 
interpretation  of  the  crucial  passage  in  Deuterono- 
my, xxii,  5: 

Wherfor  my  twoe  examples,  beinge  taken  as  thay  ought  to  be, 
and  in  that  vnderstandinge,  that  I  applyed  them  for,  this 
consequution  rightely  followethe,  Non  ergo  iuueni  est  grande 
simpliciter  nefas,  Mollem puellam  induere.  which  proposition  I 
assuminge  to  be  trwe  (as  I  thinke  it  is  most  trwe)  I  strayte  fell 
to  the  expowndinge  of  the  place  in  Deute.  thus;  Non  ergo 
vestis  fxminea  iuueni  est  scelus,  Sed  praua  mens,  libido,  malitia. 


^  These  passages  are  here  printed,  so  far  as  I  know,  for  the  first  time. 
Other  and  less  extensive  extracts  are  given  by  Mr.  F.  S.  Boas  in  The  Fort- 
nightly  Review,  August,  1907,  pp.  311-319,  and  in  his  University  Drama  in 
the  Tudor  Age,  pp.  233  ff. 


DEFENCE    OF   THE    STAGE  113 

ac  dolus.  Nee  habitus  vllus,  sed  animus  turpem  faeit.  that,  is 
that  the  only  puttinge  on  of  weeme[n]s  rayment,  is  not  wicked, 
but  the  lewde  ende  to  deceyve,  the  rather  therby,  and  the  more 
safely  to  be  in  the  cumpanye  of  weemen,  to  bringe  some  bad 
purpose  abowte;  or  of  an  effemynate  mynd,  to  suffer  his  heare 
to  growe  longe;  or  to  fryzell  it,  or  in  speeche,  colour,  gate,  gesture, 
and  behaviour  to  become  womanishe;  or  ordynaryly  so  to  con- 
verse amonge  men  and  weemen,  agaynst  the  course  of  all  naturall 
and  cyvill  regarde,  is  an  abomynation  to  the  Lorde.  other  doe 
expownde  the  place,  thus;  that  a  man  shall  not  putt  on  the 
ornamentes  of  a  woman;  nor  a  woman  the  armour  of  a  man; 
and  that  this  lawe  was  opposed  agaynst  the  superstition  of  the 
Gentylls,  amonge  whome  in  the  sacrifices  of  Venus,  men  clad 
them  selves  like  weemen,  with  distafT  and  spindell,  and  suche 
like;  and  weemen  in  the  sacrifices  of  Mars,  putt  them  selves  in 
armour,  and  therfor  Abomynation  in  the  Scriptures,  say  thay, 
is  com/77only  taken  for  idolatrye,  or  for  somethinge  belonginge 
to  idolatrye.  all  the  devynes  that  ever  I  talked  with  of  this 
matter,  aflirme  the  trwe  meaninge  of  that  place,  to  be  contayned 
in  thes  senses  rehearsed,  wherfor  though  I  grant,  that,  as 
you  prove,  (admyttinge  that  in  case  of  necessytye  a  man  may 
clad  hym  selfe  in  a  woma[n]s  habitt)  he  may  not  therfor  doe  ill 
in  iest,  and  in  a  meryment.     [c.  c.  c.  ms.  352,  p.  52.] 

He  stoutly  maintains,  moreover,  that  the  evils 
attributed  to  the  practice  have  no  relevance  to 
his  own  dramatic  productions: 

Yet  I  answere,  that  we  not  offendinge  agaynst  the  trwe  vnder- 
standinge  of  the  Text,  because  we  doe  not  so  of  any  ill  intent,  or 
any  suche  mynd,  or  that  any  suche  effecte  hathe  followed  in  vs 
therof,  or  may  in  deede  be  sayde  at  all  to  weare  weeme[n]s 
apparell,  because  wearinge  implyes  a  custome,  and  a  com/zion 
vse  of  so  doeinge,  wheras  we  doe  it  for  an  howre  or  twoe,  or 
three,  to  represent  an  others  person,  by  one  that  is  openly 
knowne  to  be  as  he  is  in  deede;  it  is  not  ill  in  vs  to  doe  so,  thoughe 
it  be  but  in  myrthe,  and  to  delyte:  and  therfor  all  that  parte 
of  your  discourse,  wherin  you  inforce  by  many  authorytyes, 
that  there  must  be  a  distinction  in  apparell  twixt  men  and 
weemen,  pertaynethe  not  to  me:  for  how  coulde  I  thinke  other- 
wise? for  this  my  verse.  Nee  habitus  vllus,  sed  animus  turpem 
facit,  was  not  to  fetche  abowte  any  hidden  conclusion,  or  to 
delyver  a  rule  that  it  is  no  dishonesty  for  a  man  in  all  places  to 

S-8. 


114  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

weare  whatsoever  apparell  he  will,  if  his  mynd  be  chast,  as 
you  say;  but  served  as  a  parte  of  that  interpretation  of  the  place, 
wherof  I  spake  before,     [c.  c.  c.  ms.  352.  p.  52.] 

Gager  proceeds  further  in  contending  that  the 
impersonation  of  women  by  the  Christ  Church 
actors  was  not  such  as  to  encourage  licentiousness: 

Seeinge  therfor  that,  as  I  take  it,  it  is  not  proved  vngodly  for 
a  boy  or  a  yuthe,  to  putt  on  womanly  rayment  in  owre  case,  it 
followethe  that  it  is  not  the  lesse  vnlawfuU  for  suche  a  one  also 
to  imitate  womanly  speeche,  and  behaviour,  howe  hardly  so 
ever  you  thinke  good  to  terme  it.  neyther  dothe  my  glosse 
vpon  the  Texte  allowe  the  contrary,  as  you  wryte.  for  thes 
verses  of  myne,  Distinda  sexum  forma  distinctum  decet,  Virile 
non  estfseminx  mores  sequi,  etc.  are  also  parte  of  my  exposition 
of  the  Texte  which  is  in  controversye,  and  carrye  no  other  sense 
then  I  have  spoken  of  before,  for  thoughe  different  behavioure 
becummethe  difTerent  sexes,  and  it  beseemethe  not  men  to 
followe  weemens  manners,  in  the  com/non  course  of  lyfe,  to  the 
pervertinge  of  [p.  55]  the  lawe  of  nature,  honesty,  and  cumlynes, 
or  for  any  evill  purpose;  yet  a  boy,  by  way  of  representation 
only,  may  not  indecently  imytate  maydenly,  or  womanly 
demeannre.  Ffor  as  for  all  that  tracte  of  your  discourse, 
concerninge  the  danger  of  wanton  dansinge,  of  kissinge  bewtifuU 
boyes,  of  amatorye  embracinges,  and  efTectuall  expressinge  of 
love  panges,  whereby  bothe  the  spectators  in  behowldinge, 
and  the  actors  in  the  meditation  of  suche  thinges,  are  corrupted, 
all  which  you  prove  by  sondry  examples  and  authorytyes;  it 
is  more  learnedly,  and  eloquently  handled,  then  iustly  applyed 
agaynst  vs.  it  is  easy  for  you,  or  any  man  of  learninge  to  wryte 
or  speake  copiously,  and  truly  agaynst  the  bad  effecLes  of  Stage 
playes,  in  generall;  but  in  owre  cause,  it  is  rather  to  be  con- 
sidered, how  trwly,  and  charitably  suche  thinges  may  be  applyed 
agaynst  vs,  then  howe  eloquently  thay  may  be  enforced.  *  *  * 
We  hartely  pray  you.  Sir,  to  make  a  greate  difference  betweene 
vs,  and  Nero  with  his  Sporus,  or  Heliogabalus  with  hym  selfe, 
or  the  Cananytes,  Jwes,  Corinthians,  or  them  that  cause  their 
pages  to  weare  longe  heare  like  weemen,  or  Critobulus,  kissinge 
the  fayre  sonne  of  Alcibiades,  or  any  suche  doggs.  we  hartely 
abhorr  them;  and  if  I  coulde  suspecte  any  suche  thinge  to  growe 
by  owre  Playes,  I  woulde  be  the  first  that  should  hate  them,  and 
detest  my  selfe,  for  gyvinge  suche  occasion,     you  say  owte  of 


DEFENCE    OF   THE    STAGE  115 

Quintilian,  nimium  est  quod  intelligitur;  and  I  may  say,  nimium 
est  quod  dicitur.  we  thanke  God  owre  youthe  doe  not  practyse 
suche  thinges,  thay  thinke  not  of  them,  thay  knowe  them  not. 
neyther  can  any  man  lyvinge,  the  rather  for  owre  Playes,  charge 
any  one  of  vs  with  the  leste  suspition,  of  any  suche  abomynation. 
I  have  byn  often  moved  by  owre  Playes  to  laughter,  and  som- 
tyme  to  teares;  but  I  can  not  accuse  eyther  my  selfe,  or  any 
other  of  any  suche  beastly  thought,  styrred  vp  by  them, 
and  ther  for  we  should  most  vncharytably  be  wronged,  if  owre 
puttinge  on  of  womanly  rayment,  or  imytatinge  of  suche 
gesture,  should  eyther  directly  or  indirectly  be  referred  to  the 
commandement.  Thou  shake  not  commit  adulterye.  and  yet 
if  owre  Eurymachus  had  kissed  owre  Melantho,  thoughe  Socrates 
had  stood  by,  (and  I  would  Socrates  had  stood  by)  he  would 
perhapps  have  sayde  he  had  done  amysse,  but  not  so  danger- 
ously as  Critobulus  did,  because  he  might  evydently  perceyve, 
that  no  suche  poyson  of  incontinencye  could  be  instilled  therby. 
As  for  the  danger  to  the  spectators  in  heeringe  and  seeinge 
thinges  lyvely  expressed,  and  to  the  actors  in  the  ernest  medita- 
tion and  studye  to  represent  them;  I  grant  that  bad  effectes 
doe  fall  owte  in  thos  Playes,  agaynst  the  which  suche  arguments 
are  iustly  to  be  amplyfyde;  but  there  is  no  suche  myscheefe  to 
be  feared  to  enswe  of  owres,  wherin  for  owre  penninge,  we 
are  base  and  meane  as  you  see;  and  specialy  for  womanly 
behaviour,  we  weare  so  careles,  that  when  one  of  owre  actors 
should  have  made  a  Conge  like  a  woman,  he  made  a  legg  like  a 
man.  in  sum/Ti;  owre  spectators  could  not  gretely  charge  owre 
actors  with  any  such  diligence  in  medytation  and  care  to  im- 
prynt  any  passions;  and  so  neyther  of  them  coulde  receyve  any 
hurt  therby.     [c.  c.  c.  MS.  352.  pp.  54-55,  56.] 

One  welcomes  the  genial  observation  concerning 
the  Christ  Church  student  who,  when  he  "should 
have  made  a  Conge  like  a  woman,  he  made  a  legg 
like  a  man";  for  it  is  pleasant  to  infer  that,  unlike 
his  opponent,  Gager  did  not  allow  the  earnestness 
of  the  occasion  to  annul  his  humor. 

In  advancing  to  the  second  main  charge, — 
of  wasted  time  and  money, — Gager  is  amply 
armed.     For  justifying  both  relaxation  in  general 


116  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

and  dancing  in  particular,  he  finds  support  not 
only  in  manifest  common  sense,  but  also  in  the 
sturdy  Gouernour  of  Sir  Thomas  Elyot: 

In  your  answere  to  my  defence  of  owre  not  mysspendinge 
tyme  aboute  Playes,  I  must  needes  saye,  you  spare  vs  not  a 
whitt.  if  you  had  but  sayde  that  owre  playes,  are  toyes, 
unnecessarye,  vayne,  or  suchelike;ithad  byn  no  more  perhapps 
then  in  strictnes,  trwe.  because  Unum  modo  necessarium; 
and  he  that  had  tryde  all  thinges,  of  his  owne  wise  experience 
pronouncethe,  Vanitas  vanitatum.,  &  omnia  vanitas,  yea  evne 
learninge,  and  wisdome,  and  all  thinges  ells,  excepte  the  feare  of 
God,  which  endurethe  for  ever,  and  I  have  harde  a  godly, 
and  a  learned  preacher,  whome  you  knowe,  in  the  pulpitt 
affirme,  that  owre  declamations,  oppositions,  suppositions,  and 
suche  scholasticall  exercises,  are  no  better  then  vayne  thinges. 
but  to  compare  owre  Playes,  to  y*  wickednes  ofafoole  committed 
in  pastyme,  to  a  madd  mann's  castings  of  fyrebrandes,  arrowes, 
and  mortall  thinges,  as  you  doe  before;  or  to  the  hauntinge  of  a 
dycinge  house,  or  taverne,  or  stwes,  as  in  this  place;  or  to  a  schollers 
playinge  at  stooleball  amonge  wenches,  at  mumchance,  at  Mawe 
with  idell  lost  companions,  at  Trunkes  in  Guilehalls,  dansinge 
abowte  Maypoles,  riflinge  in  alehouses,  carrowsinge  in  taverns, 
stealinge  of  deere,  or  robbinge  of  orchardes,  as  afterwarde;  I  say 
to  compare  owre  Playes  to  no  better  then  thes  thinges,  it  ex- 
ceedethe  the  cumpasse  of  any  tolerable  resemblance.  *  *  * 
Ffmally,  bothe  you,  and  I  agree,  that  relaxation  from  studyes 
is  necessary  in  a  good  scholler,  bothe  for  bodye,  and  mynde. 
and  yet  did  I  not  conclude,  as  you  make  me,  that  therfor  all 
recreations  are  honest,  for  I  never  thought  any  suche  thinge. 
but  as  my  simple  assertion,  that  there  is  a  needfull  tyme  for 
sportes,  dothe  not  therfor  prove  the  lawfuUnes  of  owre  Playes, 
which  before  I  presumed  to  be  lawfull;  so  your  incomparable, 
and  harde  comparisons,  doe  lesse  argue  their  vnlawfullnes. 
and  heere  amonge  other  vnfitt  recreations,  besyde  Playes,  you 
use  many  wordes  agaynst  dansinge,  thoughe  it  be  but  as  it 
weare  by  the  waye.  all  which  place  dothe  touche  vs  no  neerer, 
then  I  have  shewed  before,  for  myn  owne  parte,  I  never 
dansed,  nor  ever  coulde,  and  yet  I  can  not  denye,  but  I  love  to  see 
honest  dansinge.  to  omytt  Homer's  iudgment  therof,  an 
excellent  observer  of  decorum  in  all  thinges;  that  learned  Knight 
Sir  Thomas  Eliote,  amonge  other  thinges  that  he  wrytethe  in  a 
booke  of  his,  which  I  have  scene,  in  the  prayse  of  dansinge, 
I  remember,  comparethe  the  man  treadinge  the  measures,  to 


DEFENCE    OF   THE    STAGE  117 

[p.  61]  Fortitude,   and  the  woman  on  his  hande,  to  Temperance. 

[C.  C>C.  MS.  352,  pp.  58,  60-61.] 

Gager's  discussion  of  expense  and  of  the  claim 
of  the  poor  includes  interesting  disclosures  in 
regard  to  the  infrequency  and  modest  scale  of  the 
Christ  Church  performances: 

Say  you,  Nero  peraduenture  was  eyther  less  able,  or  less  willinge, 
to  helpe  the  poore,  by  reason  offyve  or  size  thousande  powndes  spent 
for  a  Plaudite.  what  Nero's  ryotts  weare  that  way,  I  can  not 
iustly  accownte;  likely  it  is,  thay  weare  very  excessyve,  that  he 
would  gyve  so  muche  mony,  as  you  speake  of,  to  Captaynes 
of  bandes,  only  to  crye,  excellent,  excellent;  besyde  the  rest  of 
his  charge,  in  settinge  his  Playes  owte.  there  is  no  proportion, 
I  knowe,  between  Nero's  abylytye,  and  owres.  but  if  Nero 
[p.  62]  cowlde  have  as  well  spared  suche  huge  summs  of  mony, 
which  he  spent  that  way  often,  as  owre  House,  with  the  cum- 
panye  in  it,  and  belonginge  to  it  (thanked  be  God)  can,  ons  in 
many  yeers,  thirtye  powndes;  Nero  showlde  have  byn  wronged 
greatly  beinge  an  Emperour  to  have  byn  noted  of  wastfullnes, 
and  if  ever  he  had  any  suche  good  mynde,  he  mought  never  the 
lesse  have  releeved  the  poore.  And  therfore,  ad  quid  ista 
perditio  est,  Here?  Mala,  Mome,  vox  est;  servethe  a  turne  well 
inoughe  agaynst  Momus.  for  thoughe  I  knowe  there  is  an 
infmyte  difference,  betweene  owres,  and  the  action  agaynst  the 
which  it  was  hypocrytically  first  vsed;  yet  I  thinke  it  may  also 
be  applyed,  agaynst  eyther  the  nigardise,  or  the  hypocrisye  of 
any  Momus,  that  shall  condemne  all  expence,  as  cast  awaye, 
that  is  somtyme,  moderattly  bestowed  vpon  honest  sportes  and 
pastymes,  and  not  vpon  the  poore.  A  man  may  feast,  and 
yet  remember  the  affliction  of  Josephe  toe.  and  monye  may  be 
spent  on  Playes,  evne  thirtye  powndes,  and  yett  the  poore 
releeved,  and  no  man  the  lesse  liberall  for  them,  or  the  more, 
if  they  had  not  byn  at  all.  for  thoughe  no  cost  can  be  so  well 
bestowed,  as  that  was  vpon  owre  Savioure;  yet  if  followeth  not, 
that  therfor  no  cost  is  at  any  tyme  to  be  imployed  vpon  lawfuU 
recreations,  suche  as  owre  Playes  weare,  whatsoever  is  rather 
obiected,  then  proved,  to  the  contrarye.     [c.  c.  c.  ms.  352,  pp.  61-62.J 

With  the  next  consideration, — the  alleged  dele- 
terious effect  of  plays  upon  the  morals  of  actors 


118  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

and  audience, — we  arrive  at  the  very  heart  of  the 
controversy.  For  his  defence  Gager  depends  not 
only  upon  the  plain  case  of  his  own  performances, 
but  also  upon  the  lofty  tradition  of  ancient  tragedy : 

In  Riuales,  what  Cato  might  not  be  delyted  to  see  the  fonde 
behaviour  of  cuntrye  wooinge,  expressed  by  cyvill  men,  or  the 
vanytye  of  a  bragginge  soldier?  by  the  spectacle  of  the  drunken 
mariners,  if  there  were  any  drunkard  there,  why  might  he  not 
the  rather  detest  drunkennes,  by  seeinge  the  deformytye  of 
drunken  actions  represented?  possible  it  was  not,  that  any 
man  should  be  provoked  to  dronkennes  therby.  the  Lacede- 
monians are  co/nmended  for  causinge  their  slaves,  beinge  drunke 
in  deed,  to  be  brought  before  their  children,  that  thay  seeinge 
the  beastly  vsage  of  suche  men,  myght  the  more  lothe  that  vyce; 
but  we  muche  better  expressinge  the  same  intent,  not  with 
drunken,  but  with  sober  men,  counterfettinge  suche  vnseemly 
manners,  are  the  lesse  therfor  to  be  reprehended.  In  Hippolytus, 
what  younge  man  did  not  wisshe  hym  selfe  to  be  as  chast  as 
Hippolytus,  if  he  weare  not  so  allreadye?  whoe  did  not  detest 
the  love  of  Phxdra'l  whoe  did  not  approve  the  grave  counsayle 
of  the  Nurse  to  her  in  secrett?  or  whoe  coulde  be  the  worse  for 
her  wooinge  Hippolytus,  in  so  generall  termes?  the  drifte 
wherof,  if  it  had  byn  to  procure  an  honest  honorable  marriage, 
as  it  was  covertly  to  allure  hym  to  inceste,  he  might  very  well 
have  listned  to  it.  whoe  wisshethe  not  that  Theseus  had  not 
byn  so  credulus?  whoe  was  not  sorrye  for  the  crwell  deathe  of 
Hippolytus'^.  thes  and  suche  [p.  58]  like,  weare  the  passions 
that  weare,  or  might  be  moved,  in  owre  Playes,  withow^te  hurte, 
at  the  leste,  to  any  man.  as  in  other  Tragedy es;  whoe  dothe 
not  hate  the  furye  of  Medea,  the  revenge  of  Atreus,  the  treason 
of  Clytemnestra  and  jEgistus,  and  the  crueltye  of  A^ero?  con- 
trarye  wise,  whoe  dothe  not  pittye  the  rage,  and  the  deathe  of 
Hercules,  the  calamytye  of  Hecuba  and  her  children,  the  in- 
fortunate  valure  of  Oedipus,  the  murder  of  Agamemnon,  the 
bannishment  of  Octauia,  and  suche  like?  and  yet  no  man  is 
to  be  reproched,  for  eyther  affection.  Wherfor  as  the  younge 
men  of  owre  house,  are  suche  in  deede,  as  I  commended  them  for; 
so  for  me,  or  for  any  thinge  donne  on  the  Stage,  by  the  grace 
of  God  thay  may  so  remayne  and  continwe,  and  I  hope  shall 
ever  be  so  reputed,     [c.  c.  c.  ms.  352.  pp.  57-58.] 


DEFENCE    OF   THE    STAGE  119 

The  fourth  consideration, — the  status  of  actors 
under  Roman  civil  law, — involves  nice  questions 
of  fact  and  of  logic  that  can  be  set  forth  only 
inadequately  in  brief  extracts.  Gager  maintains, 
in  the  first  place,  that  actors  were  never  accounted 
indiscriminately  infamous: 

Ffor  first  I  denye,  that  the  Romans  ever  iudged,  omnes 
scenicos,  infames.  because  Playes  weare  somtyme,  as  in  a 
com/77on  plauge,  instituted  ad  placandos  Deos,  and  weare 
provided  by  greate  Officers,  of  the  com/77on  treasure;  and  so 
thay  are  referred  ad  religionem,  et  deuotionem.  somtyme 
thay  weare  sett  owt  at  the  pryvat  cost  of  them  that  stood  to 
the  peeple  for  great  Offices,  or  generally  for  the  honor  and 
sollace  of  the  cytye;  and  so  thay  are  referred  to  magnificence, 
for  magnificentia  is  a  goodly  vertue,  [p.  47]  et  versatur  circa 
sumptus  amplos,  non  turpes  aut  infames,  because  it  is  a  vertwe; 
but  circa  quxcunque  in  Rem  publicam  honestx  laudis  studio 
conferuntur;  amonge  the  which  Aristotle  reckonethe,  Ludos 
splendide  facere.  neyther  is  it  to  be  thought,  that  Msopus  and 
Roscius,  beinge  bothe  men  of  that  fame,  favor,  wealthe,  and 
entyre  famyliarytye  with  the  best,  and  wisest  in  theire  tymes, 
weare  reputed  as  infamous  persons,  what  should  I  speake 
of  so  many  Circi,  Theatra,  Amphitheatra,  buylded  by  the  greatest 
and  bravest  Romans,  with  so  huge  charge  and  sumptuousnes? 
which  thoughe  thay  weare  wonte  vpon  fowle  abuses,  or  some 
other  occasion,  as  you  write,  overthrowne  by  the  Romans  them 
selves,  yet  evne  thos  playes,  for  which  thay  weare  abolished, 
weare  ex  eo  genere,  of  whom  thay  might  have  sayde  (as  C 
Tacitus  dothe  of  Astrologers)  quod  in  ciuitate  nostra  et  vetabitur 
semper,  et  retinebitur.  howsoever,  I  can-  not  thinke,  that 
eyther  thay  woulde  have  suffered  suche  thinges  to  be  donne  at 
all,  if  thay  had  iudged  them  ill;  or  to  be  performed  by  infamous 
personns,  beinge  matters  of  that  state  and  magnificience,  and, 
as  thay  thought,  of  that  devotion,  and  necessytye.  it  weare 
not  harde  for  me  to  heape  vp  many  thinges  to  this  purpose, 
but  my  desyre  is  no  furder  to  approve  theire  iudgment  heerin, 
then  servethe  for  the  necessarye  defence  of  owre  selves,  and  owre 

Ooinges.       [C.  C.  C.  MS.  352,  pp.  46-47.] 

Gager  contends,  moreover,  for  a  distinction  first, 
between  histriones, — those  '^common  players"  who 


120  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

act  professionally  for  money  (quxstus  causa), — 
and  amateurs  like  the  Christ  Church  students, 
who  play  without  compensation  (sine  qudestu); 
and  secondly,  between  the  dissolute  amateurs  of 
antiquity  and  the  virtuous  gentle  folk  of  the  Oxford 
colleges: 

Ffirst  therfor  wheras  you  denye  me  that  the  Praetor  dothe  not 
distinguisshe,  as  I  doe,  be[t]weene  thos  that  doe  prodire  in 
scenam  quaestus  causa,  and  not  quxstus  causa,  but  rather  in 
expresse  wordes  saythe  the  contrarye,  qui  in  scenam  prodierit 
infamis  est;  it  is  very  trwe,  and  I  knwe  that  very  well  before, 
but  because  Vlpian  ad  edictum  Prsetoris,  dothe  so  expownde  the 
Praetor,  as  it  weare  ex  xquitate  Pretoria  and  ex  rexponsis  pru- 
dentum  Pegasi  et  Nerux  filij  I  thought  it  was  as  good  lawe, 
and  better  verse,  to  saye,  Famosus  ergo  est  quisquis  in  scenam. 
exiji?  Praetor  negabit;  seeinge  the  meaninge  of  the  Prxtor, 
and  so  the  Praetor  hym  selfe,  is  taken  to  denye  it;  as  to  saye 
Vlpianus,  or  Pegasus  <Sc  Nerua  filius  negabunt.  that  Vlpian 
dothe  approve  the  distinction  of  Pegasus  and  Nerua,  it  is  evi- 
dent; for  if  he  had  disliked  it,  or  not  allowed  it,  thoughe  he 
alleged  theire  authoritye,  yet  he  woulde  in  expresse  wordes 
have  refused  it,  as  in  many  places  of  the  Ciuill  Texte,  the  like 
appeerethe.  that  Pegasus  and  Nerua  doe  so  distinguisshe,  it 
is  as  manifest;  because  otherwise  Vlpian  showlde  repeate  the 
Praetors  Edict  in  vayne,  and  not  [p.  45]  interprete  it,  which  he 
professethe  to  doe.  besyde  that  Glossa  comm.unis,  Baldus, 
Petrus  de  Castro,  and  all  that  I  have  scene  vpon  this  lawe,  doe  so 
vnderstand  this  latter  parte  therof.  lastely,  in  this  very  Title 
De  his  qui  notantur  infamia,  and  in  the  same  places  therof, 
In  certamen  descender e,  and  In  scenam.  prodire,  doe  as  thay  saye 
in  owre  lawe,  ambulare  acquis  passibus;  but  it  is  most  evident, 
that,  qui  descendit  in  certamen  depugnaturus  cum.  bestijis  dentatis, 
ac  feris,  virtutis  ostendendae,  non  mercedis  causa,  non  est  notatus; 
ergo  qui  prodit  in  scenam.  pronuntiandi  gratia,  sine  praemio,  aut 
quaestu,  non  est  notatus.  and  the  reason  of  the  favorable  parte 
of  the  distinction,  may  well,  me  thinkes,  be  gathered  owte  of 
the  lawe  which  is  C.  de  spectaculis  Li.  in  fine.  li.  xi.  Neyther 
dothe  Dionysius  Gothofredus,  whom  you  alleage,  denye  this 
distinction,  but  rather  prove  that  Pegasus  and  Nerua  filius 
doe  so  distinguisshe,  in  exceptinge  agaynst  the  latter  member, 
in  his  note,  Immo  et  qui  sine  quaestu.     whoe,  to  admytt  your 


DEFENCE    OF    THE    STAGE  121 

perhapps,  that  he  is  a  man  more  learned  then  Pegasus  and  Nerua 
filius,  the  authors  of  this  distinction,  together  with  Vlpian, 
in  not  disallowinge  it,  approvinge  the  same  (which  notwith- 
standinge  for  some  reasons  I  can  not  yet  thinke  to  be  soe) 
yet  surely  he  is  not  of  so  greate  authorytye,  as  the  Texte  it 
selfe,  whatsoever  any  man  may  esteeme  his  learninge  to  be. 
and  yet  in  some  sense,  his  shorte,  but  quick  note,  Immo  et  qui 
sine  quxstu,  hurtethe  not  vs  at  all.  for  if  he  meanethe  therby 
to  taxe  Laberius,  Lentulus,  Nero,  and  suche  like,  that  did 
exercere  historioniam,  thoughe,  gratuitam;  his  exception  is  most 
trwe,  and  it  makethe  not  agaynst  vs,  or  owre  Texte.  for  this 
lawe  releevethe  them,  that  came  in  Scenam,  to  doe  theire 
common  weatthe  honor,  theire  citizens  honest  pleasure  and 
delyte,  and  theire  Godds  devowte  servyce,  with  owte  rewarde; 
not  them  that  did  so  only  to  satisfye  theire  dissolute  and  lewde 
humors,  as  Lentulus,  Nero,  and  others  did,  whose  examples  can 
not  be  applyed  agaynst  them,  or  vs;  as  shall  be  heerafter  shewed. 

[C.  C.  C.  Ms.,  352    pp.  44-45.] 

Upon  the  final  issue,  as  to  the  appropriate  use 
of  the  Sabbath  day,  Gager  comments  with  agree- 
able tartness: 

Wheras  I  sayde  that  there  was  no  more  tyme  spent  vpon  owre 
Playes  then  was  convenient,  you  replye  that  //  may  be  there  was, 
evne  some  tyme  that  shoulde  have  byn  spent  in  heeringe  Sermons, 
the  very  day  that  my  Vlysses  Redux  came  vpon  the  Stage.  It 
may  be  there  was  not;  and  for  any  thinge  that  can  be  proved, 
or  for  any  thinge  that  any  man  needed  to  be  hindred  from 
Sermons  that  daye  for  my  Vlysses,  it  was  not  so  in  deede.  sure 
I  ame,  that  the  gentelman  that  playde  Vlysses,  was  at  Sermon, 
and  divers  others  of  the  actors,  as  if  neede  were  thay  coulde 
prove,  perhapps  the  rather,  to  avoyde  such  a  scandall.  if  any 
were  awaye,  thay  might  have  other  cause  so  to  doe,  thoughe 
(the  more  the  pittye)  it  is  no  vnvsuall  thinge,  for  many  other 
students,  as  well  as  owres,  sometyme  to  mysse  a  sermon,  and 
it  may  be,  that  some  of  them  that  mysliked  owre  Playes,  weare 
not  there  them  selves;  it  may  be  the  same  Sonday  night  thay 
were  wurseoccupyed  then  owre  actors  were.  [c.  c.  c.  ms.  352,  p.  59.] 

From  the  two  documents  examined  above  it 
appears  that  Gager  fared  well  enough  in  a  con- 


122  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

troversy  restricted  to  questions  of  morals;  and  one 
can  but  regret  that  the  debate  did  not  more  readily 
broaden  into  issues  of  literary  criticism,  in  which 
the  humane  learning  of  the  Christ  Church  scholar 
must  have  displayed  itself  to  even  greater  advan- 
tage. Of  the  temper  and  wisdom  that  would  have 
characterized  his  essays  in  this  direction,  however, 
we  may  gain  at  least  a  glimpse,  for  at  one  point 
in  the  quarrel  the  dramatist  strays  into  the  con- 
sideration of  a  literary  canon.  In  the  course  of 
his  random  strictures  upon  the  drama,  Momus  is 
made  to  condemn  Gager's  Ulysses  Redux  in  the 
following  terms: 

Tragoedise  plausistis  alternse  quoque; 
Nisi  forte  potius  ilia  sit  Comsedia, 
Opima  thuri  prseda,  scombrisque  aridis, 
Exanguis,  atque  exilis,  &  serpens  humi, 
AfTectuum  tarn  vacua,  tarn  neruis  carens, 
Vinumqtze  referens  latice  dilutum  nimis, 
Cui  vix  color  maneret,  aut  minimus  sapor. 
Cui  diua  Elisa  callide  iniecta,  vndiqt^e 
Plausum  imperauit,  sibilo  dignae  magis. 
Mendicus  Irus,  dedecore  lambum  afficit, 
Personse  vilis;  quodque  sublimi  nefas 
Su/77mu777  est  Tragaedo,  Comice  risu/r?  excitat.^ 

Here  is  a  sufficiently  flat  condemnation  of  the 
practice  of  admitting  comic  scenes  into  tragedy. 
In  justifying  this  practice  Gager  was  put  to  his 
trumps;  for  although  he  makes  no  substantial  reply 
in  his  Epilogus  Responsivus  to  Momus,  it  was  in 
anticipation  of  precisely  such  a  stricture  that  he 
composed   his   interesting   prologue   Ad   Criticum, 

1  Momus,  11.  60-71,  printed  in  Ulysses  Redux,  Oxford,  1592,  sig.  F  4 
recto — F  4  verso. 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  123 

found    among    the    prefatory   pages   of     Ulysses 
Redux  (sig.  A  6  recto — A  7  verso) : 

AD  CRITICUM 

Qvorsum,  inquis,  epistola?  an  nos  concione  etiam  aliqu^ 
enecabis?  parumne  tibi  prsestatur,  si  versus  tui  legantur? 
cuius  patientiQ  erit,  prsefationem  quoqize  tolerare?  ecquando  ad 
carmina  tandem  ipsa  licebit  peruenire?  quid  porro  hie  dicturus 
es,  quod  non  in  Prologo  tuo  dixisti,  aut  saltern  in  Epilogo  dicere 
potuisti?  Recte  tu  quidem  ista,  Critice,  si  scriberem  Epi- 
grammata;  quibus  epistolari  opera  non  est  opus,  quia  in  qua- 
cunque  pagina  visum  est,  epistolam  facere  solent.  at  TragQdis, 
quibus  pro  se  loqui  non  licet,  pr^fari  semper  permissum  fuit,  & 
ego  TragQdia/T?  scribo.  Imo,  non  est,  inquis,  h^c  Trag^dia. 
Quid  ita,  Critice?  quia,  inquis,  &  materise  quadam  mendicitate 
peccat,  dictioneqizeplerumqize  comica  est;  &  risum  in  Iro  mouet, 
quod  in  Tragaedia  nefas  est,  aique  adeo  piaculum;  &  vere  tragico 
alYectu  vacat,  (quis  enim  aut  Procorum,  id  est  hominum  im- 
proborum  interitu  suspiret,  aut  meretricularum  suspendio 
illachrymetur?)  postremo,  quia  l^tum  habet  exitum.  Profecto 
ipsum  te  esse  Criticum  oportet,  ita  es  ingeniose  maledicus. 
&  quidem  baud  scio  an  vera  ista  sint;  fortasse  non  multum 
absunt  [sig.  A  6  verso]  a  veris.  Sed  tamen  libet  ire  contra. 
Ac  primiim  tibi  ilia  Horatiana  respondeo, 

Et  tragicus  plerumque  dolet  sermone  pedestri, 
Telephus  &  Peleus  cum  pauper  &  exul  vterque 
Proijcit  ampullas,  <Sc  sesquipedalia  verba. 
Mihi  vero,  quoad  licuit,  Homeri  vestigiis  insistere,  nunquamqwe 
a  boni  senis  quasi  latere  discedere,  religio  fuit.  Quis  enim  a 
tanto  Vate  vel  latum  vnguem  libenter  abiret?  aut  quis  meliora 
se,  ac  grandiora  confidat  allaturum?  vt,  quimaterise,  dictionisque 
humilitatem  carpit,  non  me,  sed  Homerum  ipsum,  id  est 
principem,  Ideam,  ac  Deum  poetarum  reprehendat;  eum  vero 
qui  vituperat,  Zoilum  esse  necesse  sit.  Porro  in  Cyclope, 
Euripides,  Silenum,  Satyros,  ipsumque  Polyphemum  ridicule 
garrientes,  &  Seneca  Thyesten  non  nimis  sane  sobrium  inducit. 
Quid  vero  ilia  Sophoclis  Cignea  cantio  Oedipus  Colonseus,  quam 
centesimum  prope  agens  animum  scripsit,  qusunque  antiquitas 
tantopere  admirata  est?  quid,  inquam,  ea  magnopere  luctuosum 
habet,  prseter  placidam  &  maturam  Oedipodis  iam  senio  con- 
fecti,  mortem?     ElectrQ  vero  quod  aliud  est  argumentum,  quam 


124  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Clytemnestrae  nequissimae  foeminae,  ^gistique  adulter!,  iustis- 
sima  caedes?  Eiusdem  denique  Philoctetes,  &  SenecQ  Hercules 
Oeteus,  in  quam  aliam  catastrophen,  nisi  laetam  desinunt? 
Quid  ego  hie  tot  Euripidis  trag^dias  commemorem?  quarum 
fere  nulla  est,  quQ  non  in  omnem  istam  reprehensionem  incurrat. 
Magnis  ego  me  &  authoribus  &  argumentis  possem  defendere; 
sed  emoriar  si  amem  lites,  saltern  criticas,  id  est  futiles,  id  est 
tuas,  Criti[sig.  A  7  recto]ce.  Nam  vt  viuendi,  sic  etiam  scribendi 
ratio  mihi  inprimis  probatur  ea,  quae  est  paulo  liberior  ac  pene 
dissolutior,  quseque  non  tarn  doctissimis,  quam  imperitis  placeat. 
quid  enim  putidius  quam  quod  tu  facere  soles,  in  eo  peccare, 
quia  nihil  peccare  discrutiamur?  Equidem  ego  banc  sine 
trag^diam,  sine  fabulam,  sine  narrationem  historicam,  sine 
quicquid  eam  dici  ius  fasqtie  est,  non  ad  exquisita/n  artis 
poeticse  tanquam  aurificis  stateram,  sed  ad  popularis  iudicii 
trutinam  exigendam  proposui,  &  efTudi  potitzs  qudm  scripsi: 
in  qua  minus  ingenio  laborandum  fuit,  in  cuius  locum  dimidiQ 
pene  Odysseae  argumentum  succedit;  quo  in  digerendo,  non  lam 
acumine,  quam  delectu,  nee  tam  copia,  quam  modo  opus  habui. 
Atqui  vt  ipse  arrogans  sim,  si  cuiquam  h^c  mortalium  minus 
quam  mihi  placeret;  ita  tu  improbe  facis,  qui  in  alieno  libello 
nimis  es  ingeniosus.  At  quid  tibi,  inquis,  omnino  est  cum 
Tragaedia?  quid  tibi  cum  Homero,  ac  non  potius  cum  Bartolo 
negotii  est?  cui  bono  est,  si  apud  te  vel  Vlysses  diserte,  vel  caste 
loquatur  Penelope?  lam  parce,  quaeso;  iam  puto  mehercle 
verum  dicis,  Critice.  ne  viuam  si  vlterius  respondere  ausim 
Quare  beneuolus  lector  debebit  tuae,  id  est  malae  linguae,  quod 
defensionem  meditatus  longissimam,  epistola  eum  prolixiore 
non  defatigem.     Vale. 

This  substantial  defence  of  the  mingling  of 
comedy  and  tragedy  is  a  welcome  document  in 
the  history  of  English  literary  criticism;  for  in  it, 
in  the  year  1592,  an  eminent  Oxford  scholar,  who 
held  himself  aloof  from  the  traffic  of  the  London 
stage,  justifies  a  dramatic  practice  conspicuously 
followed  by  Shakespeare. 


SOME      PRINCIPLES       OF     SHAKESPEARE 

STAGING 

Thomas  H.  Dickinson 


In  considering  those  principles  which  have  gov- 
erned during  three  centuries  in  the  production  of 
Shakespeare's  plays  one  is  reminded  that  a  play 
differs  from  other  arts  in  that  the  completed  pro- 
duct is  always  the  result  of  collaboration.  Some- 
times the  original  composer  predominates  and 
sometimes  the  contribution  of  the  executant  is  most 
prominent,  but  the  work  can  never  be  said  to  belong 
alone  to  the  one  or  to  the  other.  The  ideal  collabo- 
ration is  that  in  which  the  execution  is  at  one  with 
the  technical  principles  of  the  composition.  But 
the  longer  a  play  has  lived  the  more  difficult  it  is 
to  maintain  this  identity  of  principle,  for  as  fashions 
change  there  is  possible  a  complete  divorce  between 
the  code  by  which  the  composer  of  the  play  wrote 
and  that  by  which  the  producer  executes.  The 
true  lover  of  Shakespeare  does  not  ask  that  the 
means  of  production  of  Shakespeare's  plays  remain 
stable;  he  is  satisfied  if  they  remain  adequate. 

In  recent  years  we  have  had  many  critiques 
pointing  to  the  faulty  collaboration  between  the 
modern  producer  of  Shakespeare's  plays  and  the 

[  125  ] 


126  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

author  himself.  Though  many  of  the  conclusions 
of  this  criticism  have  been  just,  they  have  been 
based  too  often  upon  incomplete  and  misleading 
data.  Fortunately  it  is  no  longer  necessary  to 
start  from  mere  assumption  in  treating  either  the 
past  or  present  practice  of  the  staging  of  Shake- 
speare's plays.  The  careful  studies  in  the  mechan- 
ics of  the  Elizabethan  stage  by  Albright  and 
Lawrence  and  Reynolds  are  useful  guides  for 
the  man  who  would  reconstruct  past  systems. 
Written  as  a  rule  by  scholars  in  literature  rather 
than  in  the  theatre,  these  works  have  been  valuable 
to  the  extent  that  they  limited  themselves  to  the 
consideration  of  the  structural  properties  of  the 
Elizabethan  stage.  When  however,  as  does  Brod- 
meyer,  the  writers  began  to  reconstruct  the  Eliza- 
bethan principle  of  staging  by  reference  to  me- 
chanical discoveries,  their  researches  resulted  in 
such  monstrosities  as  the  circular  stairs  to  the 
galleries  and  the  "alternation  theory."  Sup- 
plementing the  more  mechanical  researches  Sidney 
Lee,  William  Poel,  Jocza  Savits,  John  Corbin  turn 
from  the  platform  stage,  the  gallery,  the  heavens, 
the  curtain,  and  the  alternation  theory  to  the  con- 
sideration of  the  ''imaginary  puissance"  of  the 
audience.  They  know  that  the  important  thing 
is  not  the  shape  of  the  stage  but  the  manner  in 
which  the  stage  was  used;  that  one  could  build 
again  the  Shakespearean  stage  and  still  be  far 
away  from  an  adequate  code  of  production; 
that  the  stage  itself  was  but  an  accident,  the 
genius  of  the  dramatist  being  shown,  in  Dumas' 


y 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  127 

words,  in  "making  a  convention  of  an  exigency." 
The  difference  between  these  writers  and  the 
writers  of  the  mechanical  school  is  that  the  former 
understand  the  claims  of  _r££^0£t-in  the  composi- 
tion and  production  of  a  play  while  the  latter  as  a 
rule  do  not. 

LWhat  was  the  most  important  feature  of  the 
Elizabethan  stage  from  the  point  of  view  of  rapports 
Almost  without  exception  critics  answer  that  it  is 
the  fact  that  it  was  bare, — that  is,  that  it  was  free  L^^ 
of  adornment,  rude  in  execution,  and  simple  in 
design.  I  should  answer  that  it  is  the  fact  that  it  y 
is  flexible,  by  which  I  mean  that  it  was  immediately 
adaptable  to  the  purposes  of  the  imagination  of 
the  poet  and  producer.  Flexibility  is  sometimes 
the  quality  of  simplicity,  but  flexibility  is  not  the 
quality  of  bareness  or  rudeness.  Bareness  is  a 
material  and  immediate  quality.  It  lays  a  burden 
upon  the  artist  in  that  it  limits  his  freedom.  He 
may  seek  for  an  expressive  beauty  only  to  the 
extent  that  this  may  be  reached  through  a  hamper- 
ing limitation  of  medium.  Flexibility  is  more 
universal  than  this.  It  is  the  ideal  quality  of  the 
medium  of  art  for  it  subordinates  the  medium  to  the 
purpose,  it  bends  it  to  the  uses  of  the  imagination. 
When  we  say  the  stage  was  bare  we  gain  no  light  on 
other  kinds  of  staging.  When  we  say  it  was  flexible 
we  refer  to  a  principle  which  may  and  should  be 
applied  to  all  stages. 

By  reading  Albright  and  Lawrence  we  can  learn 
a  great  deal  about  the  circumstances  of  Elizabethan 
staging.     For  our  present  purposes  it  will  be  suffi- 


128  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Y^cient  if  we  know  that  the  stage  was  a  platform  ex- 
/  tending  into  the  audience  chamber  and  unprotected 
Li).y  a  curtain;  that  there  was  no  perspective  scenery 
used  to  suggest  geographical  location;  that  solid 
properties  were  used,  and  that  these  were  mov- 
able; that  action  could  take  place  at  many  points 
on  the  stage  and  on  the  balcony,  and  that  some  of 
the  action  on  the  rear  of  the  stage  may  have  been 
prepared  for  behind  a  curtain;  that  each  scene 
cleaned  up  after  itself  unless  the  property  was  to 
remain  over  for  the  next  scene;  that  two  and  some- 
times three  doors  were  used  for  entrance.  For 
such  appliances  as  these  all  of  Shakespeare's  plays 
were  written,  and  by  them  all  were  produced;  these 
appliances  were  as  useful  in  providing  the  settings 
for  ghosts  and  fairies  as  for  suggesting  the  halls  of 
Windsor;  they  represented  as  well  a  stormy  heath, 
a  field  with  two  armies  encamped,  the  forest  of 
Arden,  the  midnight  landscape  of  Puck  and  Oberon, 
Rome  and  Venice  and  the  Coast  of  Bohemia. 

Now  surely  these   effects  were   not  gained   by 
mere  bareness.     We  have  abundant  warrant  for 
the  belief  that  the  Shakesperean  stage  presented 
anything   other   than   such   an   appearance.      One 
need  only  to  study  Henslowe  to  learn  the  prominent^ 
place  taken  by  rich  color  and  fabric  in  costumes,  ( 
and  intricate  and  spectacular  movement  in  pageanl^ 
and   procession.     William   Poel,   who   devised   the 
first    modern    stage    of   the    Shakespeare    type   in 
England,  soon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Shakes- 
peare's stage  could  not  have  been  dismal.     Oscar 
Wilde  in  "The  Truth  of  Masks"  has  shown  that 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  129 

Shakespeare  was  willing  to  use  the  tricks  of  cos- 
tume, the  appeals  of  display,  whenever  possible. 
The  boy  and  girl  disguises,  Malvolio  cross-gartered, 
Macbeth  and  his  wife  in  their  night  gowns,  the 
rags  of  Timon,  the  black  of  Hamlet,  the  armies  of 
the  Chronicles, — these  revealed  the  dramatist's 
willingness  not  only  to  use  effects  for  spectacle, 
but  to  use  them  dramatically.  He  had  no  desire 
to  depend  upon  poetic  description  where  the  sug- 
gestion of  sight  was  more  immediate.  And  what 
is  true  of  costumes  is  true  of  movable  properties.  "^ 

It  was  not  by  a  purposed  denuding  of  accessories 
or  a  conscious  crudeness  of  handling  that  the 
Elizabethan  producer  worked.  He  was  wise 
enough  to  distinguish  between  the  kinds  of  effects 
which  could  be  secured  by  sight  and  those  other 
effects  that  lie  only  in  the  "mind's  eye".  In  this 
he  was  somewhat  aided  by  the  accidents  of  the 
stage  structure  of  the  time,  but  these  were  not 
altogether  responsible.  Shakespeare  had  at  any 
time  he  desired  it  ready  to  hand  the  ornate  struc- 
ture of  the  masque.  He  did  not  use  this  because 
he  found  his  own  stage  more  flexible  and  useful  in 
serving  the  larger  purposes  of  his  craft. 

Here  we  have  to  consider  one  of  the  most  strik- 
ing characteristics  of  Shakespeare's  dramatic  crafts- 
manship, this  being  the  distinction  he  made  be- 
tween the  foreground  of  the  action  and  the 
background.  The  foreground  of  Shakespeare's  art 
was  always  expressed  in  men,  in  precise  figures 
revealing  themselves  in  actions  and  immediate 
relationships  with  their  fellows.     The  background 

S— 9. 


130  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

of  his  art  concerned  the  larger  relationships  of 
the  human  family,  the  truths  of  philosophy  and 
the  imagination  which  lie  behind  and  expound  the 
lives  of  men.  '.  Of  the  two  the  background  is  to 
him  always  the  more  important.  The  chief  char- 
acteristic of  his  stage  flexibility  lay  in  the  fact  that 
while  his  plays  were  precise  in  immediate  matters 
of  display  they  were  general  and  enigmatical  in 
the  background.  They  presented  a  surface  all  of 
a  piece  with  the  life  on  the  other  side  of  the  plat- 
form, and  a  far-reaching  background  extending 
away  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  to  distant 
times,  and  into  the  general  zones  of  the  spirit.  In 
men  and  properties  they  were  specific.  In  spirit 
and  movement  they  w^ere  universal./^ 

We  had  always  accepted  this  distinction  between 
foreground  and  background  in  reference  to  the 
thought  structure  of  the  play.  But  we  have  not 
seen  so  clearly  that  it  was  also  adopted  into  the 
technique  of  the  stage.  This  principle  in  fact  ex- 
plains many  of  the  difficult  features  of  Shakes- 
pearean staging.  The  stage  was  so  constructed  as 
to  avoid  all  precise  references  of  any  kind  save  those 
of  the  foreground.  The  large  action  of  the  play  was 
thrown  altogether  upon  the  support  of  the  mind. 
TSo  far  from  imitating  a  particular  place,  the  stage 
hardly  suggested  a  place  as  locality.  There  was 
no  perspective  to  focus  or  relate  the  action  in  space. 
If  space  relationships  were  suggested  now  and 
then,  they  were  general  and  not  particular, 
symbolic  but  not  precise.  The  doors  were  valuable 
as  points  of  entrance  and  departure  but  they  were 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  131 

not  taken  to  be  scene  doors.  The  relationships  of 
upper  and  lower,  separation,  distance,  juxtaposi- 
tion, sequence  of  positions,  could  be  suggested  on 
the  stage  without  in  any  way  making  the  stage  seem 
to  be  any  real  place.  It  served  only  as  a  material ; 
platform  on  which  the  actors  stood  while  they  built  Ij^ 
the  subtler  structure  of  the  imagination.  .^ 

It  is  this  instrumental  character  that  gives  the 
Elizabethan  type  of  stage  its  great  flexibility  and 
readiness  of  use.  If  it  were  more  representative  the 
minds  of  the  audience  would  be  tied  to  the  repre- 
sentation. As  it  is  non-committal  it  is  not  bound 
by  any  limitations.  It  may  be  half  a  dozen  stages 
as  well  as  one.  Indeed,  the  frequent  use  of  this 
stage  for  simultaneous  action  at  different  centers 
warrants  one  in  finding  at  its  separate  divisions 
different  zones  on  which  varied  actions  or  even 
types  of  action  may  conventionally  have  proceeded. 
Such  are  the  lower  stage  before  the  audience,  the 
upper  stage  under  the  balcony,  the  middle  stage, 
the  balcony,  and  possibly  even  the  floor  of  the 
auditorium,  and  the  flag  tower.  On  such  a  stage 
one  has  suflicient  justification  for  Sidney's  '*Asia 
of  the  one  side,  and  Afric  of  the  other";  and  there 
was  warrant  for  the  mingling  in  one  presence  of  the 
intimate  domestic  action  and  the  noisy  outdoor 
scene  of  Othello,  III,  iv,  and  IV  i,  and  of  the 
many  mingled  tragic  and  comic  scenes  of  the 
dramatist. 

More  important  than  any  problem  of  stage 
handling,  is  the  power  this  kind  of  stage  gave  to  the 
hand  of  the  poet.     For  Shakespeare's  stage  forced 


132  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

him  back  to  the  use  of  his  strongest  medium  of 
expression,  the  only  medium  that  withstands  all 
the  tests  and  changes  of  time,  the  medium  of  the 
idea  expressed  in  perfect  language.  To  the  extent 
that  Shakespeare  perfected  this  medium  in  the 
theatre  he  raised  drama  to  the  highest  eminence 
it  has  reached  among  the  arts  of  the  world.  His 
use  of  his  stage  for  the  elevation  of  the  art  of  the 
theatre  into  a  permanent  substance  sufficiently 
answers  Goethe's  idea  that  he  was  not  a  theatrical 
poet  in  that  his  mind  overleaped  his  narrow  stage. 
Shakespeare's  mind  did  not  overleap  his  stage. 
He  compelled  the  stage  to  serve  his  art. 

The  qualities  by  which  are  shown  Shakespeare's 
ability  to  force  his  stage  to  the  service  of  his  art 
are  at  least  three:  ,  1st,  his  disregard  of  time  and 
space  in  the  arrangement  of  his  episodes;  2d,  the 
rapidity  of  his  action  and  the  variety  of  his  scenes; 
3d,  his  use  of  poetic  details  to  build  out  the  con- 
tours of  the  action.  In  seeking  for  instruments 
by  which  Shakespeare's  plays  are  to  be  produced, 
no  executant  of  any  time  or  nation  can  afford  to 
ignore  these  primary  principles  of  his  craftsman- 
ship. To  the  extent  that  one  or  another  or  all 
of  these  have  been  ignored  or  violated,  the  pro- 
ducer has  failed  to  give  us  Shakespeare.  He  has 
given  us  an  art  lower  than  that  of  Shakespeare. 

These,  then,  are  the  general  principles  of  that 
"plastic"  staging  by  which  the  plays  of  Shakespeare 
were  first  given  forth  to  the  world.  In  using 
the  term  *'plastic"  it  is  important  to  remember 
that  it  carries  here  little  suggestion  of  a  material 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  133 

plasticity.  The  true  plasticity  of  the  stage  lay 
in  its  ready  adaptability  to  imaginative  expression. 
It  was  a  free  and  universal  and  at  the  same  time 
a  precise  and  ceremonial  stage.  It  offered  a  maxi- 
mum of  appeal  to  sight  in  matters  of  costume  and 
property.  It  offered  a  maximum  of  suggestion  in 
the  general  matters  of  background  and  atmosphere. 
For  representations  as  of  a  room  or  bed  chamber 
it  had  a  sufficing  intimacy.  For  larger  matters 
it  had  a  suggesting  symbolism. 

A  generation  after  the  death  of  Shakespeare  the 
change  of  stage  conventions  began.  There  had 
been  some  signs  of  this  change  before  the  closing 
of  the  theatres.  And  many  traits  of  the  older 
stage  persisted  for  a  considerable  time  after  the 
Restoration.  But  generally  speaking,  the  change 
of  convention  is  to  be  dated  at  the  Restoration 
\  and  the  force  of  the  change  was  the  influence 
from  France.  While  the  English  stage  retained 
many  of  its  traditional  qualities,  the  underlying 
principle  of  staging  was  revolutionized  from  a  .^ 
plastic  art  of  suggestion  to  a  pictorial  art  of  repre-vT 
,  sentation.  This  change  was  by  no  means  con- 
cerned only  with  theory  and  external  detail. 
It  struck  at  the  heart  of  the  play  itself,  and  it  had 
an  influence  upon  subsequent  English  dramatists 
that  cannot,  after  two  and  a  half  centuries,  even 
be  estimated.  Of  art  we  may  say  as  Chesterton 
says  of  man, — that  it  is  more  important  to  know 
its  philosophy  than  its  practice.  To  the  extent 
that  the  old  practice  was  retained  in  the  theatre 
after  the  Restoration  it  was  attached  to  a  code 


134  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

with  which  it  was  not  harmonious.  It  persisted 
by  main  strength  and  its  interest  soon  lost  all 
but  a  dubious  historical  value.  The  declamatory 
method  remained  long  after  the  stage  to  which  it 
was  adapted  had  been  destroyed.  The  doors  in 
the  proscenium  stood  for  two  centuries  as  ves- 
tiges of  the  old  entrance  doors.  But  so  far  from 
retaining  any  of  the  spirit  of  the  old  play  these 
served  only  to  enforce  upon  a  new  convention  the 
instruments  of  an  outworn  formula. 
r-  When  the  plastic  method  of  production  gave 
iway  to  the  pictorial  method  of  production  the 
philosophy  of  English  staging  was  changed.  The 
latter  was  a  method  of  representation  and  realiza- 
tion. The  former  had  been  a  method  of  evocation 
and  imagination.  The  pictorial  method  magnifies 
the  importance  of  the  stage.  The  Elizabethan  play 
ignores  the  stage  and  fixes  the  action  in  the  mind. 
The  picture  stage  points  and  localizes  the  action. 
^  The  Elizabethan  play  generalizes  the  action.  The 
picture  stage  restricts  its  appeal  to  the  limits  of  the 
sense  of  sight.  The  Elizabethan  play  liberates  the 
fancy  by  elevating  it  above  the  zone  of  those  things 
that  may  be  seen  and  felt. 

The  physical  characteristics  of  the  Elizabethan 
stage  are  enigmatical.  They  are  precise  in  a 
pointed  context.  They  fall  below  the  line  of  atten- 
tion when  the  mind  is  poised  or  soaring.  As 
against  this  useful  flexibility  the  governing  charac- 
teristics of  the  picture  stage  are: 

1st.     It  interposes  between  the  audience  and 
the  actors  an  arch  which  provides  the  frame,  and 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  135 

a  curtain  which  provides  the  veil  between  the 
regions  of  reality  and  imagination.  By  this 
means  it  emphasizes  the  separation  of  the  two 
fields. 

2d.  It  provides  a  background  of  scenery  lo- 
calizing the  action  and  fixing  the  movement 
within  the  bounds  of  sight.  It  limits  the  instru- 
mentalities of  drama  to  the  intellect  and  the 
senses. 

3d.  It  sets  the  stage  in  perspectives,  so  that 
a  single  point  provides  the  focus  and  all  action  of 
whatever  type  must  be  in  reference  to  that  point. 
It  fastens  the  action  to  a  space  of  narrow  area  and 
contiguous  to  the  audience. 

Nothing  in  this  argument  should  be  permitted  to 
suggest  that  there  is  no  place  in  dramatic  art  for 
a  stage  of  the  pictorial  type.  Our  interest  lies 
only  in  the  influence  this  type  of  staging  exerted 
in  the  collaboration  between  the  romantic  dramatist 
and  his  later  producers.  In  the  case  of  Shake- 
speare's plays  it  required  a  reorganization  of  the 
play  to  fit  the  new  type  of  production.^'-^'Seginning 
with  Dryden  and  carried  on  by  Gibber,  Garrick, 
Kemble,  Kean,  Macready  and  Irving,  every  new 
production  meant  a  new  variation.  Scenes  were 
rearranged  and  linked  together  into  acts,  false  to 
the  original  and  inconsistent  with  any  true  prin- 
ciple of  dramatic  structure.  Poetry,  rendered  re- 
dundant by  scenery,  was  rewritten  and  cut.  Decla- 
mation, which  had  held  on  too  long  against  a  back- 
ground of  imitation,  finally  gave  way  to  a  system 
of  naturalism  in  acting,  true  indeed  to  its  stage, 


136  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

but  false  to  its  theme.  Worst  of  all,  the  swift  ac- 
tion, the  crowding  procession  of  life,  of  event,  and 
of  thought  was  interrupted  by  a  series  of  dulhng 
waits.  The  structure  of  the  lavish  imagination  of 
the  dramatist  was  broken  into  a  score  of  detached 
fragments.  Shorn  of  their  poetry,  delayed  in  their 
action,  perverted  into  ill  fitting  acts,  set  in  precise 
rather  than  general  contexts,  focused  on  a  stage 
of  one  zone  rather  than  distributed  on  a  stage  of 
many,  the  poetic  imagination  of  the  author  crossed 
with  the  pictorial  imagination  of  the  producer,  the 
spirit  of  Shakespeare's  plays  fled  from  the  theatre 
to  be  wooed  back  with  difTiculty  if  at  all.  Many 
lovers  of  Shakespeare  have  joined  with  the  recent 
critic  who  wrote,  ''My  own  experience  has  been, 
until  quite  recently,  that  none  of  the  performances 
which  I  have  seen,  have,  with  a  few  notable  excep- 
tions, produced  an  impression  on  me  in  any  way 
comparable  to  the  impression  which  I  could  get 
from  reading  Shakespeare." 

Almost  as  serious  as  the  mistreatment  of  the 
dramatist  himself  is  the  vitiation  of  his  influence 
upon  dramatists  who  would  follow  him  and  main- 
tain his  tradition.  Given  the  type  of  staging  of  the 
Restoration  and  after,  it  was  manifestly  impossible 
to  follow  the  Shakespeare  tradition  with  any  hope 
of  success.  On  this  account  Dryden  was  perfectly 
right  in  his  appeal  for  the  "heroic"  play.  If  the 
stage  was  to  be  one  of  sight,  if  the  scenes  had  to  be 
precise,  if  it  was  desirable  to  limit  the  number  of 
scenes  in  a  play,  then  indeed  the  ideal  of  the  heroic 
play  was  the  only  sensible  one.    In  arguing  for  this 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  137 

play  Dryden  was  arguing  as  a  dramatist  who  knew 
the  stage.  But  Dryden  was  not  strong  enough  to 
enforce  the  acceptance  of  a  type  of  tragedy  appro- 
priate to  the  new  order  of  stage.  The  Shake- 
speare tradition  of  composition  had  by  his  time 
become  so  strong  that  it  could  not  be  dislodged. 
Not  Shakespeare  on  the  stage,  but  Shakespeare 
the  poet,  in  the  study,  inflamed  the  minds  of  men. 
For  two  centuries  dramatists  and  poets  slavishly 
followed  the  lead  of  Shakespeare,  writing  their 
plays  by  a  principle  that  no  longer  existed,  trying 
to  combine  in  one  play  the  imaginative  appeals  of 
an  ideal  stage  in  poetry,  with  the  precise  connota- 
tions of  a  picture  production.  It  was  not  alto- 
gether because  of  the  lack  of  his  genius  that  they 
failed.     They  could  not  help  but  fail. 

The  domination  by  the  picture  stage  of  the  the- 
atre of  western  Europe  and  America  has  been  ac- 
companied by  the  degeneration  of  all  kinds  of 
plays.  Among  the  plays  to  which  this  stage  is 
adapted  are  the  comedies  of  manners  and  the 
plays  of  naturalism.  In  these  orders  only  has  the 
dramatic  output  of  England  reached  anything  like 
excellence  in  the  last  two  centuries.  And  the  total 
number  of  plays  of  this  type  as  compared  with  the 
mass  of  debased  melodrama  and  romance  is  an 
indication  of  the  real  interests  of  English  speaking 
people  in  the  theatre.  Neither  comedy  of  manners 
nor  naturalism  is  expressive  of  the  genius  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race.  The  play  of  imagination  and 
poetry  still  represents  the  aspiration  of  the  English 


138  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

genius  in  the  theatre  and  if  it  does  not  come  in  the 
higher  forms  it  is  accepted  in  the  lower  forms. 

What  then  are  we  to  do?  Shall  we  go  back  to  the 
practice  of  the  Elizabethan  stage?  By  no  means,  for 
we  could  not  do  this  if  we  would.  The  lessons  of  art 
are  not  learned  by  reaction.  If  we  would  learn 
again  to  produce  Shakespeare's  plays  we  must  study 
to  apply  the  principles  of  the  first  productions  to 
the  instrumentalities  of  our  times.  Probably  the 
discoveries  of  the  new  and  appropriate  staging  of 
Shakespeare  will  come  from  the  hands  of  those  men 
who  refuse  longer  to  be  controlled  by  the  limitations 
of  a  rigid  code  of  staging  and  destroy  that  code  in 
order  to  create  a  more  flexible  system. 

Experiments  towards  the  production  of  Shake- 
speare in  this  spirit  have  been  made  frequently 
during  the  last  seventy-five  years.  Many  of  them 
began  with  the  intention  to  reproduce  the  play  ac- 
cording to  the  circumstances  of  its  original  per- 
formance. That  this  intention  should  have  come 
to  seem  unimportant  in  view  of  developments  of 
larger  magnitude  is  only  natural.  Perhaps  the 
earliest  of  these  experiments  was  the  Tieck  per- 
formance of  A  Midsummer  NighVs  Dream  in  1843 
at  the  Royal  Palace  at  Potsdam.  The  movement 
toward  a  better  historic  investiture  in  costumes 
and  properties  inaugurated  by  Kean  and  followed 
by  Irving  and  Tree,  after  researches  of  Planche  and 
Godwin,  is  in  fact  a  movement  toward  Shake- 
speare rather  than  away  from  him.  The  Weimar 
Court  Theatre  production  of  Hamlet,  the  Shake- 
speare stage  at  Munich,   the  experiments  of  the 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  139 

Elizabethan  Stage  Society  under  William  Poel,  and 
of  the  company  of  F.  R.  Benson  have  all  contrib- 
uted toward  an  understanding  of  the  problems  of 
rapport.  And  recently  the  work  of  Gordon  Craig, 
of  the  Moscow  Artistic  Theatre,  of  Max  Rein- 
hardt  and  Granville  Barker  has  been  directed  in 
one  way  or  another  to  this  end. 

The  characteristics  of  the  Elizabethan  play  prin- 
cipally kept  in  mind  by  these  modern  experimen- 
ters have  been,  1st,  its  rapidity  of  movement, 
quick  changes  of  temper,  and  variety  of  scenes; 
2d,  its  disregard  of  the  precise  associations  of 
space  in  staging  in  favor  of  a  more  general  sym- 
bolism; 3d,  the  free  scope  of  the  poetic  and  imagina- 
tive features  as  distinguished  from  the  pictorial 
and  imitative  features.  Of  these  the  first  has 
been  held  by  many  to  provide  the  key  to  the 
whole  situation.  When  the  pictorial  system  of 
staging  was  introduced,  the  first  and  most  notice- 
able result  was  the  slowing  of  the  action  through 
pauses  between  the  scenes  and  the  acts.  And  it 
was  this  problem  that  experimenters  first  sought  to 
solve  before  they  came  to  any  revolutionary  sug- 
gestions. To  the  quickening  of  the  action  and  to 
its  continuity  many  of  the  experiments  of  Max 
Reinhardt  and  Granville  Barker  have  been  di- 
rected. 

As  the  problem  seemed  largely  a  mechanical 
one  the  first  effort  was  to  solve  it  by  mechanical 
means.  This  led  to  the  invention  of  several  in- 
genious contrivances  for  the  rapid  changing  of 
scenery.    These  have  been  of  two  general  types, — 


140  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

the  sliding  and  wagon  stage,  in  which  the  new 
scene  is  drawn  before  the  arch  as  the  used  scene  is 
replaced;  and  the  revolving  stage,  which  is  a  turn- 
table on  which  three  or  four  different  scenes  may 
be  set.  The  latter  form  has  been  much  used  in 
Germany  by  Reinhardt,  and  also  in  several  of  the 
court  theatres.  It  has  found  but  sparing  use  in 
England  and  America. 

In  taking  a  step  toward  the  solution  of  the  me- 
chanical problem  this  contrivance  points  beyond 
itself  to  conditions  that  it  does  not  touch.  The 
turn-table  and  sliding  stages  are  appurtenances  of 
the  picture  stage,  used  in  an  effort  to  compel  this 
stage  to  display  characteristics  not  its  own.  In- 
deed, imaginative  flexibility  does  not  belong  to 
this  type  of  stage  and  any  effort  to  supply  it  by 
mechanical  means  is  false.  The  undoubted  faults 
in  principle  of  this  contrivance,  along  with  its  ex- 
pense and  unwieldiness,  have  kept  it  from  favor. 

The  problem  to  which  the  turning  stage  points 
without  solving  is  the  problem  of  the  localized  ob- 
jective point  of  action.  Any  effort  to  carry  an  ac- 
tion rapidly  from  point  to  point  by  mechanical 
means  is  at  a  disadvantage  beside  the  swift  move- 
ment of  the  mind.  If  rapidity  is  desired  it  is  not 
an  unnatural  rapidity  of  travel  over  space  but 
the  natural  rapidity  of  thought  and  fancy  not 
fixed  in  space,  but  free  to  follow  the  lead  of  the 
poet.  The  demand  for  rapidity  in  the  action  of 
Shakespeare's  plays  is  therefore  bound  up  with 
the  demand  for  liberation  from  the  control  of  the 
arch  and  the  painted  scene. 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  141 

Steps  have  been  taken  in  this  direction.  On  one 
side  these  have  a  mechanical  aspect,  in  that  they 
concern  the  broadening  of  the  strip  of  stage  be- 
fore the  curtain  into  an  apron  upon  which  action 
may  take  place.  More  important  than  the  me- 
chanical features  are  the  modifications  in  theory  in- 
troduced by  the  apron  stage.  It  provides  a  new 
zone  of  action  inserted  between  the  picture  stage 
and  the  audience,  a  zone  freed  from  the  limita- 
tions of  the  frame  of  the  proscenium.  The  apron 
stage  justifies  a  new  code  of  rapport  between  the 
actor  and  the  audience.  The  actors  may  come 
upon  the  stage  from  among  the  audience  or  go  out 
through  the  audience.  Upon  this  platform  they 
may  turn  toward  and  address  their  hearers.  And 
this  stage  may  provide  a  zone  of  action  diverse 
from  that  behind  the  arch.  In  fact,  the  apron  stage 
offers  many  of  the  free  instrumentalities  of  the 
Elizabethan  stage  while  retaining  also  certain 
characteristics  of  the  picture  stage. 

Even  here  there  is  no  breaking  away  from  the 
stage  of  sight.  Whether  we  like  it  or  not, — and 
there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  like  it, — the 
use  of  sight  in  all  the  arts  has  become  necessary  to 
the  extent  that  men  have  more  learned  the  use  of 
their  eyes  in  modern  times.  The  present  problem 
is  therefore  not  how  we  may  return  the  theatre  to 
the  forms  of  its  childhood,  but  how  it  may  be  led 
to  reach  a  maturity  of  balanced  powers, — particu- 
larly how  it  may  adapt  its  newer  instrumentalities 
to  the  service  of  the  best  in  the  tradition  of  the 
theatre. 


142  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Now  this  is  largely  the  problem  of  the  artist  of 
design.  The  theatre  has  for  two  centuries  been  vio- 
lated by  the  false  arts  of  line  and  color.  It  is  for 
the  artist  of  form  and  color  to  provide  the  new  in- 
strument, and  he  has  been  ready  with  his  answer. 
The  answer  the  artist  would  give  is  that  the  pure 
arts  of  design  should  be  placed  at  the  service  of 
the  theatre  in  the  form  of  new  mediums  of  dramatic 
expression, — new  symbols,  it  may  be,  not  restricted 
by  a  frame,  pointing  no  locality,  rich  in  general 
symbolism,  and  at  the  same  time  with  a  satisfy- 
ing significance  to  the  searching  eye.  Pure  design 
and  color  have  been  offered  to  take  the  place  of 
that  imaginative  plasticity  that  was  the  chief  op- 
portunity of  the  Elizabethan  stage.  Perhaps  the 
dramatic  value  of  masses  and  lines,  of  "an  open 
door  at  the  end  of  a  passage,  of  face  or  hands  at 
rest"  is  a  comparatively  recent  discovery.  At  any 
rate  it  is  one  that  cannot  hereafter  be  ignored  by 
the  artists  of  the  theatre. 

The  first  steps  away  from  the  control  of  a  nar- 
rowing perspective  were  mechanical  steps,  but 
their  results  soon  transcended  matters  of  mere 
machinery.  They  were  made  because  the  artist  dis- 
covered that  the  average  foreshortened  scene  on 
the  stage  does  not  tell  the  truth.  It  fails  to  repre- 
sent the  effects  of  sky  and  distance  that  in  the 
upper  background  mean  most  of  the  beauty  of 
open-air  scenes.  Instead,  therefore,  of  the  painted 
back  drop  with  sky  clinging  closely  to  the  outlines 
of  trees  and  houses,  the  new  producers  provided 
first  the  cyclorama  cloth  painted  in  solid  greys  or 


STAGING    SHAKESPEARE  143 

blues,  on  which,  by  manipulation  of  lights,  the  sky 
was  represented  in  the  distance  back  of  the  stand- 
ing pieces  of  the  set;  and  later  the  dome  horizon 
sloping  cone-shaped  over  the  stage.  The  first  pur- 
pose of  this  sky  background  may  have  been  natur- 
alism, but  it  went  beyond  naturalism  in  achieve- 
ment. By  it  the  artist  was  provided  a  medium 
only  less  flexible  and  neutral  than  that  of  thought. 
For  the  first  time  in  the  modern  theatre  the  setting 
was  permitted  to  represent  immensity,  vague  and 
enigmatic  if  need  be,  removed  from  all  associations 
of  space  and  time,  or  that  commoner  immensity 
of  the  sky  behind  trees  and  men's  dwelling  places. 
The  appropriateness  of  this  background  to  the 
service  of  the  rich  imagination  of  Shakespeare  was 
soon  discovered. 

There  is  an  Elizabethan  character  to  the  sky 
backdrop.  It  adds  to  the  background  of  thought 
of  Shakespeare's  stage  only  the  color  of  the  sky.  It 
neither  localizes  nor  narrows  the  scene.  And  it 
requires  the  same  relationship  between  foreground 
and  background  that  the  Elizabethan  stage  de- 
mands. For  the  foreground  it  requires  solid  prop- 
erties with  no  perspective  lines.  In  this  way  it 
introduces  again  the  plastic  to  the  stage, —  solids 
for  the  foreground,  imagination  and  distance  for 
the  background. 

In  the  change  from  the  picture-staging  to  the  new 
plastic  staging  there  was  involved  a  change  of 
lighting  that  demands  a  word.  With  the  passing 
of  perspective  there  passed  also  the  necessity  and 
the  justification   of  high-lighting.     Therefore  the 


144  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

footlights  passed  from  use  and  there  was  substi- 
tuted a  system  of  lighting  based  upon  a  study  of 
the  principles  of  daylight,  the  diffused  light  of 
the  sky  coming  from  no  point  and  playing  up  no 
particular  area.  Lighting  systems  were  now  in- 
vented which  removed  the  lights  from  view.  And 
the  next  step  was  the  use  of  lights  as  atmosphere, 
supplying  a  new  but  flexible  medium  for  interpre- 
tation of  the  message  of  the  play. 

It  lies  outside  the  purpose  of  the  present  paper 
to  name  all  the  men  who  have  contributed  to 
these  new  methods  of  staging.  But  the  paper 
would  be  incomplete  without  a  word  on  Gordon 
Craig,  and  the  system  of  "stylization"  for  which 
he  is  responsible.  Accepting  the  claims  of  sight 
in  the  modern  theatre,  Craig  dismisses  all  repre- 
sentative character  from  the  setting.  He  seeks 
to  make  the  setting  discover  and  epitomize  values 
in  the  play  not  available  to  pure  imagination.  To 
this  end  he  calls  into  use  all  the  factors  of  the  arts  of 
sight.  He  seeks  the  dramatic  values  in  mass,  lines, 
design,  color  and  light.  To  the  service  of  the 
stage  he  calls  all  the  effects  of  the  studio,  including 
sculpture,  and  chiaroscuro,  and  pure  decoration  and 
elementary  design  and  color  and  grotesque,  the 
weight  of  masses,  the  folds  of  draperies  and  the 
versatilities  of  screens. 

There  are  some  who  say  that  Craig  and  his  dis- 
ciple Bakst  subordinate  the  spirit  of  the  play  to 
the  studio  arts.  Bakst  admits  this;  Craig  denies 
it.  He  says  that  he  seeks  to  discover  the  heart 
of  the  mystery  of  the  play  and  to  express  this  by 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  145 

the  best  medium  at  present  available.  Not  be- 
cause it  is  an  art  of  sight,  but  because  he  considers 
it  the  freshest  of  the  arts  in  instrumentality  does 
Craig  offer  this  art  to  the  service  of  the  theatre. 
The  one  final  demand  of  the  substance  of  an  art, 
he  holds,  is  that  it  be  fresh,  unweighted  by  con- 
vention, evocative  of  the  subtler  values  of  dis- 
covery. For  this  reason  he  dismisses  most  of  the 
conventions  of  the  stage,  some  because  they  have 
been  too  much  used,  many  because  they  are  not 
honest.  Among  those  that  he  discards  are  the 
art  of  acting  and  the  artificial  style  of  "fronts" 
in  setting.  Instead  of  these  he  brings  into  use 
the  most  nascent  of  the  senses  and  interprets  the 
spirit  of  the  play  in  terms  of  the  '*broad  sweeps 
of  thought  the  play  has  conjured  up"  in  form  of 
design.  Macbeth  he  sees  in  rock  and  mist;  Ham- 
let is  a  "lonely  soul  in  a  dark  place";  Julius  Caesar 
is  "a  man  speaking  to  a  hundred  thousand  men." 
If  possible  he  represents  the  soul  of  the  play  either 
in  a  pure  design,  or  in  a  solid  sculptured  symbolism. 
Richard  III  is  a  field  of  tents;  Hamlet  is  set  on 
heavy  castle  battlements;  the  salient  scene  of  Mac- 
beth is  a  great  circular  stairway  down  which  Lady 
Macbeth  walks  in  her  sleep. 

As  to  whether  pure  design  can  be  used  in  the 
presentation  of  Shakespeare, — that  is  a  question 
that  the  artists  will  have  to  answer.  Certainly 
these  instrumentalities  offer  many  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  flexibility  and  purity  of  medium  pos- 
sessed by  the  plastic  stage  of  Shakespeare.  They 
possess  also  the  added  quality  of  freshness  so  neces- 


S— 10. 


146  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

sary  in  a  medium  of  art.  Probably  more  dis- 
coveries in  pure  values  have  been  lately  made  in 
sight  than  in  any  other  field  of  art.  The  producer 
has  found  that  it  is  easy  to  translate  the  style  of 
the  play  into  a  style  of  design.  Analyzing  Shake- 
speare's plays  he  finds  that  in  style  they  are  either 
natural,  that  is  of  the  order  of  life,  artificial,  that 
is  of  a  formal  order,  or  fanciful,  that  is  of  an  order 
of  pure  imagination.  For  each  of  these,  then,  he 
would  choose  a  style  of  production  that  would 
reveal  and  illuminate  its  mystery.  For  the  natural 
he  would  seek  out  a  simplifying  order  of  presenta- 
tion, reduced  to  symbolic  details  emphasizing  the 
predominant  dramatic  strain, — the  curved  stair- 
way of  Macbeth,  the  tents  of  Agincourt.  For  the 
artificial  play  he  would  seek  a  fantastic  background, 
displayed  in  a  formalized  convention  or  even  in  a 
grotesque,  as  in  the  post  impressionism  of  Barker's 
The  Winter's  Tale.  And  for  pure  fancy  he  would 
seek  out  the  purest  lines  in  sculpture,  the  purest 
tones  in  colors,  the  least  worn  of  the  masses  and 
decorations  of  archaeology  and  design.  That  there 
are  sources  of  danger  in  the  use  of  these  new  mate- 
rials there  is  no  doubt.  The  dangers  of  excess  and 
discord  in  aims  have  been  made  very  apparent  in 
the  early  experiments.  It  remains  to  be  seen 
whether  these  dangers  prove  the  undoing  of  the 
new  plastic  and  color  stage  or  whether  through 
the  new  instrumentalities  a  more  flexible  produc- 
tion of  the  old  masterpieces  will  result. 


THE     COLLABORATION     OF     BEAUMONT, 
FLETCHER,  AND  MASSINGER 

Louis  Wann 


To  one  who  has  delved  fairly  deep  into  the  mine 
of  the  later  Elizabethan  drama  it  will  perhaps 
seem  strange  that  so  little  genuine  scholarship 
has  yet  been  applied  to  the  study  of  collaboration 
among  three  of  the  most  important  Elizabethan 
dramatists:  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  and  Massinger. 
It  would  indeed  seem  difTicult  to  find  in  this  par- 
ticular period  and  field  of  Elizabethan  literature  a 
more  suggestive  and  fascinating  problem,  present- 
ing such  a  host  of  questions,  not  only  of  dramatic 
method  but  of  personal  relationship  between  men 
of  exceptional  gifts  and  commanding  human  inter- 
est. We  have  had,  to  be  sure,  sufficient  testimony 
to  the  importance  and  interest  of  the  subject  in 
the  numerous  cursory  surveys  of  the  field,  such 
as  those  of  Ward  and  Schelling.  We  have  had 
more  intimate  studies  of  parts  of  the  field  by 
Macaulay,  Gayley,  Thorndike,  Miss  Hatcher,  and 
others.  And  we  have  obtained  additional  glimpses 
of  the  possibilities  of  the  subject  in  the  analytic 
work  of  Fleay,  Boyle,  and  Oliphant.  But  in 
all  of  the  cases  mentioned  we  lack  one  or  both  of 

[147] 


148  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

the  two  requisites  for  a  satisfactory  treatment 
of  the  whole  field — comprehensiveness  and  schol- 
arly accuracy.  The  surveys  of  the  whole  field 
have  lacked  perforce  the  accuracy  that  comes 
only  from  detailed  and  thorough  analysis.  The 
careful  studies  of  detached  parts  of  the  field,  on 
the  other  hand,  lack  the  comprehensiveness  with 
which  every  problem  must  eventually  be  treated. 
A  point  of  departure  in  this  direction — towards 
a  comprehensive  and  scholarly  treatment  of  the 
actual  conditions  under  which  these  dramatists  col- 
laborated— has  been  indicated,  more  pointedly  than 
elsewhere,  in  two  very  suggestive  contributions 
published  a  few  years  ago:  Elizabethan  Dramatic 
Collaboration  by  Professor  E.  N.  S.  Thompson 
(in  Englische  Studien,  vol.  40,  p.  30)  and  Fletcher's 
Habits  of  Dramatic  Collaboration  by  Miss  0.  L. 
Hatcher  (in  Anglia,  vol.  33,  p.  219),  a  reply  to  the 
above.  These  articles,  presenting  as  they  do  in 
contrasted  form  at  least  two  definite  and  workable 
theories  that  might  explain  collaboration,  suggest 
a  foundation  upon  which  to  build  a  durable  struc- 
ture— a  foundation  which,  so  far  as  I  know,  no  one 
has  yet  seen  fit  to  establish.  It  is  time  that  this 
foundation  were  laid;  and  it  will  be  the  purpose  of  this 
paper  to  present  the  results  of  a  fairly  extensive  in- 
vestigation, conducted  with  the  above-mentioned 
requisites  in  mind,  in  the  hope  that  these  results  may 
contribute  somewhat  toward  securing  a  compre- 
hensive and  accurate  treatment  of  this  most  per- 
plexing and  yet  ever  alluring  problem  in  the  realm 
of  collaboration. 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  149 

A  brief  review  of  the  articles  in  question  will 
indicate  the  road  we  are  to  travel.  Professor 
Thompson's  suggestive  paper  on  Elizabethan  Dra- 
matic Collaboration  points  the  way.  After  dealing 
with  the  numerous  perplexities  that  frustrate  the 
whole  study  of  Elizabethan  collaboration,  the  au- 
thor indicates  the  proper  method  of  approach  in 
the  following  words: 

The  works  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  and  of  Middleton  and 
Rowley,  which  offer  the  two  best  examples  of  that  mode  of 
composition  [collaboration],  have  been  subjected  to  searching 
analytic  criticism,  and  largely  by  metrical  tests  the  individual 
work  of  the  four  men  in  their  respective  partnerships  has  been 
with  some  surety  determined.  What  Fleay,  Boyle,  Oliphant, 
Macaulay  and  Miss  Wiggin  have  done  in  this  way,  we  shall 
not  amplify  or  review.  Instead,  accepting  the  conclusions  on 
which  they  agree,  and  to  which  other  critics  have  yielded  assent, 
we  hope  in  part  to  ascertain  the  motives  and  the  methods  of 
the  play-wrights  in  their  joint  labors. 

He  then  proceeds,  after  touching  upon  the  tem- 
porary union  of  Rowley,  Dekker,  and  Ford  and 
other  scattered  instances  of  more  or  less  hasty 
collaboration,  to  the  three  cases  of  genuine  col- 
laboration in  Elizabethan  drama  that  yielded  most 
fruitful  results:  that  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
that  of  Massinger  and  Fletcher,  and  that  of  Middle- 
ton  and  Rowley,  the  last  of  which  he  considers 
the  highest  example  of  collaboration  in  Elizabethan 
times.  We  are  here  concerned  with  only  the  first 
two  cases.  And  Professor  Thompson's  conclusions 
regarding  the  methods  of  collaboration  employed 
by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  and  by  Massinger  and 
Fletcher  may  be  summed  up  as  follows:^ 

^  Since  Miss  Hatcher's  own  summary  in  Anglia  cannot  be  improved 
upon,  I  have  adopted  it  here. 


150  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

(1)  As  to  the  Fletcher-Beaumont  plays — 

According  to  the  terms  of  the  partnership,  Fletcher  was 
usually  exempt  from  the  responsibilities  of  the  first 
act.  .  .  .  [Three  exceptions  noted].  But  in  the  majority 
of  plays  attributable  to  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  alone, 
Fletcher's  hand  is  not  apparent  until  the  play  is  well 
advanced,     (p.  36). 

(2)  As  to  the  Fletcher-Massinger  plays — 

A  somewhat  difTerent  plan  was  followed  by  Fletcher 
and  Massinger,  Massinger  customarily  taking  the  first 
and  last  acts,  and  Fletcher  the  major  part  of  the  three 
intervening,     (p.  37). 

(3)  As  to  the  method  common  to  all — 

In  the  continuous  co-operation  of  Fletcher  with 
Beaumont  and  of  Fletcher  with  Massinger,  a  fixed 
method  of  collaboration,  based  on  a  structural  division 
[that  is,  one  by  acts  and  scenes]  rather  than  a  division  of 
subject-matter,  was  held  to  pretty  consistently,  (p.  36). 
....  Under  neither  arrangement  was  it  usual  for  one 
author  to  have  exclusive  charge  of  a  separate  plot  or 
character,  as  Ford  did  in  The  Witch  of  Edmonton. 
Fletcher  simply  brought  to  completion  a  plot  already/  t^j 
far  advanced  by  Beaumont,  or  carried  on  a  story 
begun  by  Massinger  and  to  be  finished  by  him.  (p.  37). 

Professor  Thompson's  theory,  then,  is  that  '*a 
fixed  method  of  collaboration,  based  on  a  struc- 
tural division  rather  than  a  division  of  subject- 
matter,  was  that  used  in  the  case  of  all  three 
dramatists. 

In  opposition  to  the  above  theory  Miss  0.  L. 
Hatcher  in  Fletcher's  Habits  of  Dramatic  Collabora- 
tion showed  very  conclusively  that,  although  his 
method  of  approach  was  the  correct  one,  Professor 
Thompson  had  assumed,  to  a  greater  extent  than 
was  his  right,  an  agreement  among  critics  as  to 
the  first  two  stages  of  the  problem:  namely,  the 
definite  assignment  of  plays  to  individual  authors, 
and  the  apportionment  of  the  parts  of  these  plays 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  151 

to  the  respective  collaborators.  Miss  Hatcher 
found  very  naturally  that  the  non-agreement 
among  Fleay,  Boyle,  Oliphant,  Macaulay,  and 
others  "reduced  the  problem  to  its  first  stage  of 
uncertainty,  whereas  Mr.  Thompson  had  passed 
on  to  the  third,  assuming  agreement  in  the  two 
lower  stages."  Miss  Hatcher's  conclusions  may 
thus  be  stated  in  her  own  words: 

The  truth  is  that  beyond  personal  conjecture,  frankly  stated 
as  such,  we  cannot  do  much  more  to  solve  this  problem  of  the 
collaborations  of  Fletcher  with  Massinger  or  indeed  with 
Beaumont.  Critical  assignments  do  not  bear  out  the  theory 
that  Massinger  habitually  began  and  ended  the  plays,  Fletcher 
working  only  on  the  middle  portion,  nor  does  there  seem  on 
the  face  of  things  any  reason  why  such  a  division  of  labour 
should  have  been  effected,  (p.  228).  .  .  .Certainly  if  we  must 
have  a  theory  as  to  Fletcher's  habits  of  collaboration,  that  of 
division  by  subject-matter  has  every  advantage  over  the  more 
mechanical  method,  (p.  229).  .  .  .Unless  critics  agree  as  to  the 
assignment  of  entire  plays  and  of  a  due  proportion  of  them,  we 
have  no  safe  foundation  for  inferences  as  to  the  habits  of  the 
partnerships,  and  the  danger  is  lest  we  shall  build  one  un- 
certainty upon  another,  and  so  confound  confusion,  (p.  231). 

We  have,  then,  four  possible  conclusions  to  be 
derived  from  a  review  of  the  articles  in  question. 
First,  as  Miss  Hatcher  seems  to  think,  we  cannot 
at  present  ascertain  what  method  was  followed. 
Second,  as  Professor  Thompson  concludes,  the 
method  used  was  that  based  on  structural  division. 
Third,  as  Miss  Hatcher  intimates  is  possible,  the 
method  used  was  that  based  on  a  division  of  sub- 
ject-matter. Fourth,  a  combination  of  the  two 
or  no  method  at  all  was  used.  Miss  Hatcher's 
general  conclusion  that  in  our  present  state  of 
knowledge   ''we   cannot   do   much   more   to   solve 


152  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

this  problem"  is,  it  seems  to  me,  seriously  open 
to  question.  In  fact,  the  concluding  statement 
of  her  article  shows  just  how  we  can  do  more. 
And  it  will  be  the  purpose  of  this  study  to  adopt 
the  method  proposed  by  Professor  Thompson,  sub- 
ject to  the  needed  criticism  of  Miss  Hatcher,  in 
an  endeavor  to  contribute  somewhat  to  a  com- 
prehensive and  accurate  knowledge  of  the  actual 
conditions  under  which  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
and  Massinger  and  Fletcher  collaborated  in  the 
production  of  plays. 

I  assume  confidently,  then,  that  it  is  possible 
to  add  something  to  w^hat  we  already  know.  And 
in  the  present  investigation  I  propose  to  take  the 
following  steps.  First,  I  shall  examine  the  entire 
corpus  of  plays  (75  in  number)  with  which  Beau- 
mont, Fletcher,  or  Massinger  had  anything  what- 
ever to  do.  I  shall  proceed  through  the  first  stage — 
the  definite  assignment  of  plays  to  individual 
authors — by  separating  these  75  plays  into  the 
following  six  classes:  (1)  Those  by  Beaumont  alone. 
(2)  Those  by  Fletcher  alone.  (3)  Those  by  Mas- 
singer alone.  (4)  Those  in  which  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher  alone  were  employed  in  genuine  collabora- 
tion. (5)  Those  in  which  Massinger  and  Fletcher 
collaborated.  (6)  Those  which  may  be  classed  as 
a  residuum,  including  all  plays  which  for  various 
reasons  are  not  clearly  and  definitely  to  be  put  in 
one  of  the  other  five  classes.  In  making  this 
separation  I  shall  take  as  my  basis  the  conclusions 
of  Fleay,  Boyle,  Oliphant,  and  Macaulay.  But 
I  shall  supplement  these  conclusions  by  the  opin- 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  153 

ions  of  five  other  critics:  Ward,  Thorndike,  Schell- 
ing,  Gayley,  and  Miss  Hatcher.  The  testimony 
of  other  historians,  editors,  and  men  of  letters 
will  also  be  given  its  due  place  as  a  corrective. 
And  here  a  word  may  be  said  regarding  the  weight 
that  should  be  attributed  to  the  failure  of  one 
critic  to  assent  with  absolute  accord  to  the  assign- 
ment of  authorship  or  the  apportionment  of  scenes 
which  have  secured  among  all  the  remaining  critics 
universal  approval.  The  mere  fact  that  Oliphant, 
for  example,  attributes  a  few  lines  of  a  scene  to  a 
third  author  when  all  others  agree  in  assigning 
them  to  one  of  our  collaborators  cannot,  accord- 
ing to  all  sound  laws  of  judgment,  be  allowed  to 
throw  a  particular  play  out  of  court.  To  ask  for 
absolute  agreement  among  critics  of  such  diverse 
training,  habits  of  thought,  and  prepossession  would 
be  asking  almost  the  impossible.  What  we  do 
demand  in  all  stages  of  this  inquiry  is  virtual 
unanimity,  and  that  is  all  that  we  have  a  right 
to  demand. 

Having  secured  the  two  bodies  of  plays  which 
all  have  virtually  agreed  are  the  product  of  genuine 
collaboration  on  the  part  of  Beaumont  and  Flet- 
cher and  Massinger  and  Fletcher  respectively,  we 
may  proceed  to  the  second  stage,  determining  the 
exact  apportionment  of  scenes  among  these  authors 
based  on  a  detailed  comparison  of  all  the  individual 
assignments  that  have  so  far  been  made  by  critics, 
chiefly  Fleay,  Boyle,  Oliphant,  and  Macaulay. 
We  shall  then  be  able  to  eliminate  from  considera- 
tion altogether  those  plays  which  contain  too  many 


154  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

doubtful  scenes  to  form  a  good  basis  for  judgment. 
Some  plays  which  we  retain  will,  of  course,  con- 
tain a  very  few  doubtful  scenes,  but  these  scenes 
will  not  be  considered  as  a  basis  for  judgment  at 
any  stage  of  the  study. 

With  these  two  stages  passed,  with  our  two 
bodies  of  plays  assigned  with  virtual  certainty  to 
either  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  or  Massinger  and 
Fletcher  and  apportioned  with  approximate  en- 
tirety and  certainty  to  their  respective  authors, 
we  may  proceed  to  the  third  and  final  stage — the 
determination,  from  our  material,  of  the  actual 
conditions  and  methods  which  obtained  in  the 
collaboration  of  these  plays.  We  may  take  the 
two  contrasted  and  conceivable  methods  above  in- 
dicated as  two  working  hypotheses.  We  shall 
first  test  out,  by  detailed  analysis,  the  soundness 
of  the  ''structural  division"  theory.  We  shall  then 
test  out  the  "subject-matter*'  theory.  Finally, 
we  may  be  able  to  decide  whether  either  of  these, 
or  both  of  them,  or  neither  of  them  will  explain 
the  production  of  the  collaborated  plays  of  Beau- 
mont, Fletcher,  and  Massinger.  At  one  of  these 
conclusions  we  shall  be  forced  to  arrive. 

Dividing  into  classes  the  75  plays  in  which  one 
or  more  of  the  dramatists  is  thought  to  have  had 
a  hand,  we  arrive  at  the  following  six  groups: 

(1)  Beaumont  alone:  The  Masque  of  Grayes  Inne 

and  the  Inner  Temple,  The  Woman  Hater — 2 

(2)  Fletcher  alone:    Bonduca,    The    Chances,    The 

Faithfull  Shepheardesse,  The  Humorous  Lieu- 
tenant, The  Island  Princesse,  The  Loyal  Sub- 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  155 

jecty  The  Mad  Lover,  Monsieur  Thomas,  The 
Pilgrim,  Rule  a  Wife  and  Have  a  Wife, 
Valentinian,  A  Wife  for  a  Month,  The  Wild- 
Goose  Chase,  Wit  Without  Money,  The  Worn- 
ans  Prize,   Women  Pleas' d — 16 

(3)  Massinger  alone:  The  Bashful  Lover,  Believe  as 

you  List,  The  Bondman,  The  City  Madam,  The 
Duke  of  Millaine,  The  Emperour  of  the  East, 
The  Great  Duke  of  Florence,  The  Guardian, 
The  Maid  of  Honour,  A  New  Way  to  Pay 
Old  Debts,  The  Parliament  of  Love,  The 
Picture,  The  Renegado,  The  Roman  Actor, 
The   Unnaturall  Combat — 15 

(4)  Beaumont  and  Fletcher:  A  King  and  no  King, 

The  M aides  Tragedy,  Philaster,  The  Scorneful 
Ladie — 4 

(5)  Massinger  and  Fletcher:  Sir  John  van  Olden 

Barnavelt,  The  Beggars  Bush,  The  Custome  of 
the  Countrey,  The  Double  Marriage,  The  Elder 
Brother,  The  False  One,  The  Little  French  Law- 
yer, The  Lovers'  Progress,  The  Prophetesse, 
The  Spanish  Curate,  A   Very  Woman — 11 

(6)  Miscellaneous:   The  Bloody  Brother,    The  Cap- 

taine.  The  Coxcombe,  Cupid's  Revenge,  The 
Faire  Maide  of  the  Inne,  The  Faithful  Friends, 
The  Fatall  Dowry,  Four  Plays  in  One,  The 
Honest  Man's  Fortune,  King  Henry  VIII, 
The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  The  Knight 
of  Malta,  The  Lawes  of  Candy,  Loves  Cure, 
Loves  Pilgrimage,  The  Maid  in  the  Mill,  The 
Nice  Valour,  The  Night-Walker,  The  Noble 
Gentleman,    The    Old   Law,    The    Queene    of 


156  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Corinth,  The  Sea  Voyage,  Thierry  and  Theo- 
doret,  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen,  The  Virgin 
Martir,  The  Widdow,  Wit  at  Sever  all  Weapons 
—27 
We  have,  then,  to  start  with  four  plays  by  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher  and  eleven  plays  by  Massinger 
and  Fletcher.  The  only  plays  about  which  any 
doubt  might  be  raised  are  Philaster,  TheElder  Brother, 
The  Prophetess,  and  A  Very  Woman.  But  a  careful 
weighing  of  the  evidence  shows  that  the  tendency 
to  disagreement  regarding  the  authorship  of  the 
first  and  the  suspicion  that  the  last  three  are  partly 
the  result  of  revision  are  so  slight  as  to  make  the 
inclusion  of  all  wholly  reasonable.  Proceeding  to 
the  apportionment  of  scenes  in  these  plays,  we 
find  that  three,  namely.  The  Double  Marriage,  The 
Little  French  Lawyer,  and  The  Lovers'  Progress, 
must  be  discarded  as  containing  too  many  doubt- 
ful scenes.  The  remainder,  four  by  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher  and  eight  by  Massinger  and  Fletcher, 
may  stand  as  sufficiently  stable  material  to  work 
with.  It  will  perhaps  with  some  reason  be  objected 
that  this  is  a  small  number  of  plays  upon  which 
to  base  generalizations.  It  is  certainly  smaller 
than  we  could  wish.  But  we  must  be  content  to 
begin  with  certainties.  And  this  number  is  not 
after  all  a  small  proportion  of  the  total  number  of 
plays  in  which  we  may  reasonably  judge  these 
authors  possibly  to  have  joined  in  genuine  collabo- 
ration. Deducting  the  33  plays  written  by  these 
respective  authors  alone,  we  have  left  only  42 
plays    which    they    could    have    written    together. 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  157 

And  a  brief  scrutiny  of  this  list  will  show  that, 
after  discarding  the  revised  plays  and  those  which 
were  the  product  of  three  authors  or  of  two  authors 
one  of  whom  was  not  one  of  our  three,  we  have 
left  a  very  small  number  which,  if  we  had  all  the 
data,  we  should  be  able  to  assign  definitely  to 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  or  to  Massinger  and 
Fletcher  as  the  product  of  genuine  collaboration. 
And  of  this  small  number  our  12  plays  will  be 
found  to  form  a  very  respectable  proportion,  amply 
large  enough  to  serve  as  a  sound  basis  for  gener- 
alizations. As  space  will  not  permit  me  to  give  the 
complete  tables  showing  in  just  how  far  Fleay, 
Boyle,  Oliphant,  Macaulay,  and  the  other  critics 
agree,  I  shall  merely  give  all  those  instances  in  each 
of  the  plays  in  which  these  critics  are  not  in  absolute 
accord.  All  agree  as  to  the  apportionment  of 
scenes,  with  the  following  exceptions:  Scornful 
Lady,  Act  I,  sc.  2;  Act  II,  sc.  1  and  3.  Philaster, 
Act  I,  sc.  1;  Act  II,  sc.  2  and  4.  Maid's  Tragedy, 
Act  II,  sc.  2;  Act  V,  sc.  2;  Prophetess,  Act  IV, 
sc.  1;  Act  V,  sc.  1.  Elder  Brother,  Act  V,  sc.  1. 
Beggars  Bush,  Act  II,  sc.  2  and  3;  Act  V,  sc.  1  and 
2.  Spanish  Curate,  Act  IV,  sc.  2.  Very  Woman, 
Act  II,  sc.  3;  Act  III,  sc.  3;  Act  IV,  sc.  2.  Custom 
of  the  Country,  Act  V,  sc.  5.  Barnavelt,  Act  V,  sc.  1. 
Out  of  209  scenes  in  these  12  plays  we  have  disa- 
greement as  to  only  21,  or  10%,  surely  not  a  large 
enough  percentage  to  affect  at  all  seriously  our 
conclusions.  These  21  scenes,  moreover,  will  at 
no  time  be  considered  as  material  for  our  study. 
When,  further,  we  consider  that  in  the  great  ma- 


158  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

jority  of  cases  the  disagreement  results  because 
of  only  one  critic's  admittedly  odd  and  ill-supported 
conclusions,  we  see  much  more  clearly  that  these 
12  plays  are  thoroughly  sound  material  for  dis- 
cussion. 

With  these  12  plays  and  only  those  scenes  in 
them  about  which  there  is  absolute  agreement, 
we  may  proceed  to  test  out  the  first  theory — that 
structural  division  was  the  basis  of  collaboration. 
Examining  the  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  plays,  we 
fmd  that  of  the  20  acts  in  the  four  plays  11|  are 
Beaumont's,  5f  Fletcher's,  and  3  doubtful.  Ob- 
viously, Beaumont  is  predominant,  almost  2  to  1, 
so  far  as  mere  amount  of  material  is  concerned. 
In  what  part  of  the  plays  now  do  these  respective 
authors  come  in?  Beaumont  begins  and  ends  3  of 
the  4  plays.  Beaumont  also  has  7-12  of  the  three 
middle  acts  (2,  3,  4).  Fletcher  begins  none  of  the 
plays,  ends  only  one,  and  has  less  than  half  of  the 
remaining  parts. ^  Clearly,  the  simple  conclusion 
is  that  Beaumont  was  the  guiding  hand  in  the 
plays — he  began,  he  ended,  and  he  filled  in.  There 
is  certainly  no  indication  of  a  "fixed  method  of 
collaboration  based  on  structure."  Still  less  does 
it  appear  that  "Fletcher  simply  brought  to  com- 
pletion a  plot  already  far  advanced  by  Beaumont." 

With  the  Massinger-Fletcher  plays  we  get  more 
definite  results,  with  an  apparent  corroboration 
of  Thompson's  theory.     Out  of  40  acts  Alassinger 


^  I  regret  that  space  will  not  permit  me,  in  reporting  the  results  of  this 
and  all  subsequent  analyses,  to  give  the  data  on  each  play.  I  give  in  all 
cases  merely  the  totals  for  each  group  of  plays. 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  159 

has  16§,  Fletcher  19J,  doubtful  4.  Fletcher  is 
slightly  predominant.  Massinger  begins  6  of  the 
plays,  and  he  ends  4  of  them.  Fletcher,  on  the 
other  hand,  begins  only  2  and  ends  only  2,  whereas 
he  has  two-thirds  of  the  middle  acts.  It  is  thus 
apparent  that  Massinger  concentrated  consider- 
able attention  on  the  beginning  and  end,  whereas 
Fletcher  did  most  of  the  filling  in.  This,  however, 
does  not  necessarily  mean  that  a  structural  divi- 
sion was  the  principle  upon  which  the  dramatists 
acted  to  produce  these  results.  May  it  not  be 
merely  accidental?  May  not  some  other  principle 
have  been  the  real  one,  producing  through  the 
operation  of  its  laws  these  merely  apparent  indi- 
cations of  a  structural  division?  This  I  shall  at- 
tempt to  show  later  on. 

In  the  case  of  the  Beaumont-Fletcher  plays, 
then,  structural  division  did  not  obtain.  It  may 
have  obtained  in  the  Massinger-Fletcher  plays, 
though  our  later  discussion  will  show  this  to  have 
been  highly  improbable. 

Turning  now  to  the  second  hypothesis,  that  a 
division  of  subject-matter  determined  the  re- 
spective parts  written  by  the  collaborators,  we 
discern  two  possible  avenues  of  approach.  We 
may  suppose  the  individual  authors  to  have  been 
inclined  toward  certain  types  of  character  and  con- 
sequently to  have  developed  these  types,  either 
tacitly  or  by  agreement.  Or  we  may  suppose  them 
to  have  favored  certain  types  of  action  and  to 
have  divided  the  plot  of  a  particular  play  between 
them  for  more  or  less  separate  development.     We 


160  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

may  test  out  this  theory,  then,  first  by  analyzing 
the  types  of  character  developed  by  each,  and 
second  by  determining  the  character  of  the  plot 
evolved  by  each,  with  the  view  of  determining 
what,  if  any,  method  may  have  been  followed  on 
the  basis  of  a  division  of  subject-matter. 

To  obtain  the  material  for  an  analysis  of  the 
dramatis  personae  I  have  first  gone  through  each 
play,  listing  scene  by  scene  the  entrance  of  every 
character,  and  indicating  whether  or  not  he  had  a 
speaking  part.  From  this  list  I  have  tabulated 
the  folowing  data:  (1)  The  total  number  of  char- 
acters, both  speaking  and  non-speaking,  devel- 
oped in  the  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  Massinger,  and 
doubtful  scenes  of  each  play  and  of  each  group  of 
plays.  (2)  The  total  number  of  appearances  of 
each  character  (each  scene  counting  as  one  ap- 
pearance), both  speaking  and  non-speaking,  in 
the  same  scenes  of  each  play  and  each  group  of 
plays.  Obviously,  two  further  steps  might  be 
taken  to  make  the  analysis  complete,  the  listing 
of  the  total  number  of  speeches  of  each  character, 
and  the  tabulation  of  the  total  number  of  lines 
spoken  by  each  character.  The  labor  involved  in 
these  steps,  however,  was  beyond  the  scope  of 
the  present  investigation,  if  after  all  it  would  be 
worth  the  pains  to  perform  it.  The  lists  I  have 
compiled  show  (1)  That  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
employed  about  the  same  number  of  characters, 
but  that  Beaumont  had  more  than  twice  the  num- 
ber of  character  appearances  that  Fletcher  had, 
exceeding  him  in  all  but  The  Scornful  Lady,     (2) 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  161 

That  Fletcher  developed  a  considerably  greater 
number  of  characters  than  did  Massinger,  ex- 
ceeding him  in  all  plays  but  A  Very  Woman  and 
The  Custom  of  the  Country,  and  that  Fletcher  had 
also  a  much  greater  number  of  character  appear- 
ances, exceeding  Massinger  in  all  but  The  Prophet- 
ess, A  Very  Woman,  and  The  Custom  of  the  Country, 
On  the  basis  of  these  lists  I  have  analyzed  the 
characters  developed  from  two  points  of  view. 
I  have  first  made  the  simple  classification  of  male 
and  female  characters.  Mechanical  though  it 
seems,  this  classification  must  of  course  be  made 
as  a  basis  for  others,  and  it  will  yield  incidentally 
some  fruitful  results  not  at  first  apparent.  The 
second  classification  is  that  of  what  I  have  called 
"exalted"  and  ''low"  characters.  In  using  these 
terms  I  have  had  in  mind  two  things:  relative 
rank  in  society  and  relative  seriousness  and  nobility 
of  character.  For  example,  in  A  King  and  No 
King  Arbaces  and  Panthea  would  both  be  termed 
"exalted."  But  of  Mardonius  and  Bessus,  both 
of  whom  are  captains  and  thus  of  equal  rank, 
Mardonius  is  "exalted"  and  Bessus  "low."  Like- 
wise the  Sword-men  and  Shop-men  would  be 
called  "low."  I  have  excluded  from  consideration 
all  characters  who  do  not  speak  and  who  lend  no 
color  to  the  play.  Thus,  in  the  Beaumont-Fletcher 
plays  I  have  excluded  19  appearances  of  the  fol- 
lowing: soldiers,  guards,  officers,  attendants,  ser- 
vants, pages,  waiting-women,  lords,  and  ladies. 
In  the  Massinger-Fletcher  plays  I  have  omitted 
49  appearances  of  the  same  types  of  character. 

S— 11. 


162  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

The  results  of  the  first  analysis  of  character  in 
the  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  and  doubtful  scenes  of 
the  Beaumont- Fletcher  group  are  as  follows: 

MALE  AND  FEMALE  CHARACTERS 

(No.  of  appearances) 


B 

F 

? 

Male 

147 

78 

33 

Female 

56 

20 

18 

203  98        51    =352+3  neutrals  =  355 

Thus,  of  the  total  number  of  his  character  appear- 
ances, 27%  of  Beaumont's  are  women,  20%  of 
Fletcher's,  and  34%  of  those  in  the  doubtful 
scenes.  Of  the  total  number  in  the  combined 
Beaumont,  Fletcher,  and  doubtful  parts,  Beau- 
mont has  59%,  Fletcher  21%,  doubtful  20%.  It 
is  thus  apparent  that  Fletcher  gave  far  less  atten- 
tion to  the  female  characters  than  did  Beaumont. 
And  this  fact  will  be  easily  explained  when  we 
notice  later  on  Fletcher's  fondness  for  the  type 
of  action  in  which,  oftentimes,  men  alone  figure, 
instanced  in  the  Bessus  scenes  of  A  King  and  No 
King  and  in  some  of  the  Young  Loveless  scenes 
in  The  Scornful  Lady. 

Turning  to  the  "exalted"  and  **low"  types  of 
characters  in  the  same  group  we  get  the  following 
results : 

EXALTED  AND  LOW  CHARACTERS 

(No.  of  appearances) 

Exalted      174        57        37 
Low  _30         42         15 

204  99         52    =  355 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  163 

Thus,  of  the  total  number  of  his  appearances, 
14%  of  Beaumont's  are  low,  whereas  41%  of 
Fletcher's  are  low,  and  29%  doubtful.  Of  the 
total  number  in  the  three  combined  parts,  Beau- 
mont has  35%  of  the  low  characters,  Fletcher 
48%,  and  doubtful  17%.  It  is  thus  obvious  that 
Fletcher  predominated  in  the  development  of  the 
lower  types  of  character,  not  only  when  merely 
his  own  contributions  are  concerned,  but  when 
the  combined  contributions  of  both  authors  are 
considered. 

So  much  for  the  character  analysis  of  the  Beau- 
mont-Fletcher plays.  The  results  from  the  analysis 
of  the  Massinger-Fletcher  group  are  slightly  dif- 
ferent in  the  first  case  and  about  the  same  in  the 
second  classification.  For  the  male  and  female 
characters  we  get  the  following: 

MALE  AND  FEMALE  CHARACTERS 

(No.  of  appearances) 


M 

F 

? 

Male 

309 

392 

75 

Female 

56 

74 

18 

365      466        93   =  924  +  10  neutrals  =  934 

Thus,  of  the  total  number  of  his  character  appear- 
ances, 15%  of  Massinger's  are  women,  16%  of 
Fletcher's,  24%  doubtful.  Of  the  total  number  in 
the  combined  parts  Massinger  has  38%,  Fletcher 
50%,  doubtful  12%.  In  this  case,  then,  the  rela- 
tive preference  of  the  authors  for  female  charac- 
ters is  about  the  same,  though  of  the  total  number 


164  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

of  women  who  appear  in  all  parts  of  the  plays 
Fletcher  has  a  greater  number  than  Massinger. 

Turning  to  the  **exalted"  and  *'low"  characters 
in  this  group,  we  secure  the  following  data: 

EXALTED  AND  LOW  CHARACTERS 

(No.  of  appearances) 

M    F    ? 
Exalted   271   296    69 
Low      95   175    28 


366   471    97  =  934 

Thus,  of  the  total  number  of  character  appearances, 
26%  of  Massinger's  are  low,  37%  of  Fletcher's, 
and  29%  doubtful.  Of  the  total  number  in  the 
combined  parts  Massinger  has  32%,  Fletcher  58%, 
and  doubtful  10%.  Even  more  strongly  than  in 
the  Beaumont-Fletcher  group,  then,  is  Fletcher 
inclined  in  the  Massinger-Fletcher  plays  to  the 
development  of  "low"  characters,  taking  as  he 
does  a  considerably  higher  percentage  of  his  own 
characters  from  low  life  than  does  Massinger,  and 
having  almost  twice  the  number  of  low  character 
appearances  that  Massinger  has. 

Summing  up  our  conclusions  regarding  the  em- 
ployment of  character  types  in  these  two  groups 
of  plays,  we  may  say  that  in  working  with  Beau- 
mont Fletcher  developed  a  smaller  number  of 
women  than  did  Beaumont,  and  that  he  developed 
much  the  larger  percentage  of  the  characters  from 
low  life.  These  two  conclusions  are  obviously 
consistent,  since  in  the  plays  under  consideration 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  165 

far  the  greater  number  of  the  low  characters  are 
men.  In  the  Massinger-Fletcher  plays  the  two 
authors  gave  practically  the  same  relative  attention 
to  the  female  characters,  though  of  the  total  num- 
ber of  appearances  of  women  in  the  plays  Fletcher 
had  a  greater  number  than  Massinger.  As  in  the 
Beaumont-Fletcher  plays,  Fletcher  had  the  pre- 
ponderance in  the  appearance  of  low  characters 
on  the  stage.  These  latter  conclusions,  it  should 
be  noted,  are  also  consistent,  since  in  the 
Massinger-Fletcher  group  of  plays  a  far  greater 
number  of  women  are  among  the  low  characters 
than  in  the  Beaumont-Fletcher  group  (e.  g.  Lilly 
in  The  Elder  Brother  and  Sulpitia  in  The  Custom  of 
the  Country).  This  accounts,  then,  for  the  fact 
that  though  Fletcher  is  predominant  in  the  em- 
ployment of  low  characters  in  both  groups,  he 
employs  fewer  women  than  does  Beaumont  and 
more  women  than  does  Massinger. 

A  number  of  other  classifications  will  suggest 
themselves  to  the  analyst  of  character,  such  as  the 
relative  use  made  of  supernumeraries,  the  relative 
employment  of  exalted  and  low  women,  the  relative 
preference  for  the  various  professions  and  stations 
in  life,  such  as  the  soldier,  the  priest,  the  ruler,  the 
physician,  the  merchant,  and  so  forth.  But  the 
classifications  above  made  will  serve  as  a  basis  for 
some  general  conclusions  and  as  a  foundation  for 
further  investigation. 

So  much  for  character  analysis — the  first  of  the 
two  aspects  of  the  analysis  of  subject-matter  which 
may  be  studied  with  a  view  to  determining  the 


166  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

method  used  in  collaboration.  The  other  aspect  is 
the  analysis  of  the  plot  itself.  How  far  did  these 
three  authors  divide  the  plot  among  them  accord- 
ing to  definite  plot  characteristics?  In  making 
this  study  we  are,  as  in  the  case  of  character  analy- 
sis, attracted  to  two  very  obvious  classifications. 
The  first  is  the  division  of  the  plots  of  the  respective 
plays  into  their  serious  and  comic  scenes.  The 
second  is  the  separation  of  the  main  plot  from  the 
sub-plot.  The  terms  used  in  the  latter  classifica- 
tion need  no  definition.  A  scene  is  classed  as  a 
part  of  the  main  plot  when  it  contributes  to  the 
forwarding  of  the  principal  action  of  the  play;  it  is 
classed  with  the  sub-plot  when  it  forwards  the 
minor  action  or  merely  causes  a  temporary 
diversion  from  the  main  action.  In  the  first  of 
these  analyses,  however,  we  are  confronted  with 
the  difficulty  of  defining  the  terms  "comic"  and 
"serious.*'  Obviously,  there  are  high  comedy 
and  low  comedy,  the  polite  burlesque  charac- 
teristic of  Beaumont  and  the  more  or  less 
coarse  farce  with  which  the  name  of  Fletcher  is 
oftener  associated.  We  might  be  accused  of  beg- 
ging the  question  if  we  were  first  to  restrict  the 
term  "comic"  to  a  type  of  comedy  which  we  knew 
at  the  outset  to  be  characteristic  of  one  author,  and 
then  proceeded  to  get  the  data  that  would  practically 
rule  out  of  consideration  the  comedy  of  all  but  this 
one  author.  I  have,  therefore,  used  the  term 
"comic"  to  designate  those  scenes  which  furnish 
a  relief,  even  though  brief,  from  the  "serious"  or 
main    purpose    of   the    plot.      The   familiar   term 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  167 

''comic  relief"  will,  I  think,  not  be  misunderstood 
if  I  use  it  to  describe  the  principle  of  this  classifi- 
cation. For  example,  the  Calianax  scenes  in  The 
Maid's  Tragedy  I  have  classed  as  ''comic"  equally 
with  the  Bessus-Sword-Men  scenes  in  A  King  and 
No  King.  Likewise,  I  have  used  the  term 
"serious"  in  a  broad  sense.  Clearly,  for  example, 
the  greater  part  of  A  King  and  No  King  is  genu- 
inely serious,  and  the  comic  parts  separate  them- 
selves easily  because  of  the  contrast.  The  Scornful 
Lady,  however,  is  all  comedy,  though  of  two  differ- 
ent kinds;  and  I  have  called  the  main  action  of 
this  play  (the  Elder  Loveless  plot)  serious,  since 
only  under  such  an  interpretation  can  the  greater 
part  of  the  underplot  (the  Young  Loveless  scenes) 
be  construed  as  "comic  relief."  Without  something 
from  which  to  be  "relieved"  there  can  be  no  "re- 
lief." 

Entering  then  upon  this  first  analysis,  which  I 
have  made  on  the  basis  of  the  actual  number  of 
lines  employed,  we  get  the  following  results  in  the 
Beaumont-Fletcher  plays: 

SERIOUS  AiND  GOiMlG  ACTION 
(No.  of  lines) 

R  F  ^ 

Serious     5944     2040     1076 
Comic        737     1035       345 


6681     3075     1421    =   11,177 

Thus,  of  the  total  number  of  lines  contributed  by 
each,    11%   of    Beaumont's    are    comic,    33%    of 


168  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Fletcher's,  24%  doubtful.  Of  the  total  number  in 
the  combined  parts,  Beaumont  furnishes  35%, 
Fletcher  48%,  doubtful  17%.  It  is  thus  apparent 
that  even  under  the  broad  interpretation  of  the 
term  "comic"  Fletcher  is  predominant  in  the  de- 
velopment of  the  comic  action,  both  in  the  relative 
number  of  comic  lines  furnished  by  him  and  Beau- 
mont and  in  the  percentage  which  he  furnished 
of  the  total  number  of  comic  lines  in  all  parts  of  the 
plays.  If,  however,  we  were  to  subtract  from 
Beaumont's  contribution  those  lines  of  his  in  King 
and  No  King  and  Maid's  Tragedy  (466  in  number) 
which  are  not  low  comedy  but  burlesque,  we 
should  fmd  that  his  contribution  to  low  comedy  is 
merely  271  lines,  or  only  4%  of  the  total  number  of 
his  lines  in  the  plays.  And,  counting  1651  lines 
of  low  comedy  in  all,  we  should  fmd  Beaumont  to 
have  furnished  16%,  Fletcher  63%,  doubtful  21%. 
It  is  thus  more  than  ever  demonstrable  that  to 
Fletcher  was  given  the  greater  part  of  the  "comic 
relief"  of  the  plays,  to  say  nothing  of  his  almost 
complete  monopoly  of  the  distinctly  low  comedy 
scenes. 

Turning  now  to  the  division  of  main  and  sub- 
plot among  the  three  parts  in  the  Beaumont- 
Fletcher  group,  we  secure  the  following  data: 

MAIN  AND  SUB-PLOT 

(No.  of  lines) 

B    F     ? 
Main    6511  2083  1118 
Sub      170   992   303 

6681  3075  1421  =  11,177 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  169 

Thus,  of  the  total  number  of  lines  contributed  by 
each,  2%  of  Beaumont's  concern  the  sub-plot, 
32%  of  Fletcher's,  21%  doubtful.  Of  the  total 
number  of  lines  in  the  combined  parts,  Beaumont 
has  11%  in  the  sub-plot,  Fletcher  67%,  doubtful 
22%.  Even  more  conclusive,  then,  than  in  the 
analysis  of  serious  and  comic  action  is  the  proof 
that  Fletcher  practically  monopolized  the  sub-plot 
in  these  plays.  This  conclusion  is  of  course  per- 
fectly harmonious  with  the  previous  one  that  he 
had  most  of  the  comic  action,  for,  on  the  whole, 
the  **comic  relief"  is  apt  to  coincide  to  a  great  ex- 
tent with  the  sub-plot. 

Turning,  finally,  to  the  Massinger-Fletcher  group 
for  the  results  of  our  two  analyses  of  plot,  we  get 
as  a  division  of  comic  and  serious  scenes  the  follow- 
ing: 

SERIOUS  AND  COMIC  ACTION 

(No.  of  lines) 

M        F  .^ 

Serious     7394     7542     2070 
Comic  74     3123       135 


7468  10,665     2205    =  20,338 

Thus,  of  the  total  number  of  lines  contributed  by 
each,  1%  of  Massinger's  are  comic,  30%  of 
Fletcher's,  6%  doubtful.  Of  the  total  number  of 
comic  lines  in  the  combined  parts,  Massinger  has 
2%,  Fletcher  94%,  doubtful  4:%.  This  is  over- 
whelming evidence  that  Fletcher  practically  wrote 
the  ''comic  relief"  of  all  these  plays. 


170  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Our  results  from  the  analysis  of  main  and  sub- 
plot are  equally  striking.    They  are  as  follows: 

MAIN  AND  SUB-PLOT 
(No.  of  lines) 

M         F  ? 

Main         6779     8101     2071 
Sub  689     2564       134 


7468  10665     2205    =  20,338 

Thus,  of  the  total  number  of  lines  contributed  by 
each,  9%  of  Massinger's  concern  the  sub-plot,  24% 
of  Fletcher's,  6%  doubtful.  Of  the  total  number 
of  lines  in  all  parts  of  the  plays,  Massinger  has 
20%  in  the  sub-plot,  Fletcher  76%,  doubtful  4%,. 
The  great  bulk  of  the  sub-plot,  then,  was  taken  care 
of  by  Fletcher.  In  fact,  were  it  not  for  Massinger's 
share  in  the  sub-plot  of  The  Custom  of  the  Country, 
which  occupies  538  lines,  there  would  remain  prac- 
tically nothing  of  sub-plot  in  his  whole  contribu- 
tion, whereas  Fletcher  has  a  substantial  number  of 
lines  of  sub-plot  in  all  the  plays  which  have  any 
sub-plot  at  all. 

Summing  up  our  conclusions  regarding  the  di- 
vision of  plot  among  our  three  authors,  we  may 
say  that  in  working  with  Beaumont  Fletcher  fur- 
nished a  considerable  majority  of  the  comic  lines  in 
the  parts  which  are  definitely  ascribed  to  these 
respective  authors,  and  if  we  consider  merely  the 
low  comedy  lines  of  the  plays  Fletcher  is  very  de- 
cidedly predominant.  Of  the  sub-plot  in  these 
plays  Fletcher  furnished  much  the  greatest  part. 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  171 

In  working  with  Massinger,  Fletcher  furnished  an 
even  greater  proportion  of  the  comic  lines,  94% 
of  the  total  number.  And  he  furnished  hardly  a 
lesser  proportion  of  the  sub-plot,  76%  to  be  exact. 
It  is  not  unreasonable,  then,  to  conclude  that  in 
both  groups  of  plays  Fletcher  was  given  or  took 
over  the  management  of  practically  all  of  the 
**comic  relief"  and  the  sub-plot,  whereas  Beau- 
mont and  Massinger  developed  the  serious  action 
and  the  main  plot. 

To  what  conclusion  does  our  evidence  point? 
It  would  seem  certain,  for  one  thing,  that  we  can 
know  more  about  this  problem  of  collaboration. 
We  have  tested  the  two  most  plausible  theories  as 
to  the  methods  employed.  There  is  little  evidence 
to  substantiate  the  first  of  these — that  a  division 
was  made  on  the  basis  of  structure.  The  Beau- 
mont-Fletcher group  flatly  opposes  this  theory.  In 
the  Massinger-Fletcher  plays  we  noticed  an  appar- 
ent corroboration  of  this  theory  which  we  are  now 
ready  to  pronounce  as  merely  apparent  and  acci- 
dental. For,  since  we  know  from  our  analyses  of 
plot  that  Fletcher  took  over  most  of  the  comic 
action  and  the  sub-plot,  whereas  Massinger  devel- 
oped the  serious  action  and  the  main  plot,  it  is 
quite  obvious  that  Massinger  was  the  logical  one 
to  begin  and  end  such  plays  as  The  Elder  Brother, 
The  Spanish  Curate,  and  A  Very  Woman  with  the 
serious  and  main  action,  leaving  Fletcher  to  fill  in 
and  interweave  the  comic  action  and  the  sub-plot. 
To  say,  then,  that  a  structural  division  prevailed 
when   the   division   of   subject-matter   completely 


172  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

accounts  for  these  phenomena,  would  be  to  adopt 
a  wholly  unnecessary  and  artificial  explanation  in 
the  presence  of  an  irresistible  and  natural  one.  In 
favor  of  the  subject-matter  theory,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  seems  to  me  our  evidence  is  fairly  conclu- 
sive. We  find  that  in  four  plays  Fletcher  developed 
a  greater  percentage  of  low  characters,  fewer  women, 
a  greater  proportion  of  the  comic  action,  and  a  much 
greater  part  of  the  sub-plot  than  did  Beaumont. 
All  of  these  four  conclusions,  consistent  with  each 
other,  point  decidedly  to  a  division  of  subject- 
matter  between  the  authors  on  the  above  basis. 
More  conclusive  still,  however,  is  the  proof  that 
in  working  with  Massinger,  taking  as  we  have  seen 
a  much  greater  percentage  of  the  low  characters, 
about  the  same  number  of  women,  a  decidedly 
greater  part  of  the  comic  action,  and  a  heavy  pre- 
ponderance of  the  sub-plot,  Fletcher  contributed 
his  part  on  the  basis  of  a  subject-matter  division. 
As  to  which  of  the  two  authors  in  the  Beaumont- 
Fletcher  and  in  the  Massinger-Fletcher  plays  was 
the  guiding  hand  we  cannot  clearly  decide,  though 
it  seems  strongly  probable  that  Beaumont  and 
Massinger  were  respectively  the  leaders  for 
Fletcher,  at  least  so  far  as  the  actual  building  of  the 
plays  was  concerned.  That  other  principles,  some 
of  them  depending  on  accidents  of  time,  subject, 
and  so  forth,  may  have  entered  in  to  determine  in 
part  the  collaborators'  methods  of  work,  no  one 
will  deny.  But  it  seems  fairly  certain  that  at  least 
this  one  principle  did  apply,  and  that  Beaumont, 
Fletcher,  and  Massinger  collaborated  in  the  pro- 


BEAUMONT,    FLETCHER    AND    MASSINGER  173 

duction  of  plays  on  the  basis  of  a  fairly  definite 
division  of  subject-matter.  To  Fletcher  fell  in  both 
cases  the  development  of  the  lower  types  of  char- 
acter, the  production  of  the  comic  action,  and  the 
evolution  of  the  sub-plot.  Beaumont  and  Massin- 
ger  confined  themselves  to  the  exalted  characters, 
the  serious  action,  and  the  main  plot. 


AN    OBSOLETE    ELIZABETHAN    MODE    OF 

RHYMING 

R.  E.  Neil  Dodge 


Readers  of  Venus  and  Adonis  who  are  not  tempt- 
ed by  the  length  of  the  poem  into  driving  on  faster 
than  they  can  keep  in  touch  with  the  verse  will 
notice  a  curious  rhyme  in  the  126th  stanza  (IL 
757-762) : 

What  is  thy  body  but  a  swallowing  grave 

Seeming  to  bury  that  posterity 

Which  by  the  rights  of  time  thou  needs  must  have, 

If  thou  destroy  them  not  in  dark  obscurity? 

If  so,  the  world  will  hold  thee  in  disdain, 

Sith  in  thy  pride  so  fair  a  hope  is  slain. 

Posteri-ty  :  obscurity,  the  rhyming  of  a  monosyl- 
labic with  a  trisyllabic  verse  ending.  Though 
Venus  and  Adonis  is  manifestly  finished  with 
great  care,  it  would  seem  as  if  this  rhyme  must  be 
the  result  of  momentary  inattention.  In  a  more 
modern  poet  it  would  certainly  imply  that.  In 
Mr.  W.  E.  Leonard's  Aesop  and  Hyssop,  for  ex- 
ample, when  we  read  of  the  pigeon  that  lit  on  the 

tarred  roof, 

Her  claws 
And  wing-tips  soon  were  smeared;  and  grievous  laws 
Of  hot  and  glutinous  viscosity 
Entangled  her.     And,  lo,  a  black  monstrosity 
Was  she,  and  helpless  as  a  sucking  farrow — 

[  174  ] 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  175 

we  can  see  just  what  has  happened.  Having  jug- 
gled for  the  better  part  of  a  volume  with  all  man- 
ner of  fantastic  rhymes,  the  poet  has  let  one  slip 
through  his  fingers.  Viscosi-ty:  monstrosity  is 
pure  carelessness,  allowed  to  stand,  perhaps,  be- 
cause it  is  unexpected.  The  rhyme  in  Venus  and 
Adonis  may  have  the  same  origin. 

If  that  be  so,  then  Shakespeare  blundered  again 
in  The  Rape  of  Lucrece,  stanza  50  (11.   351-357): 

Then  Love  and  Fortune  be  my  gods,  my  guide! 
My  will  is  back'd  with  resolution: 
Thoughts  are  but  dreams  till  their  effects  be  tri'd; 
The  blackest  sin  is  clear'd  with  absolution; 
Against  love's  fire  fear's  frost  hath  dissolution. 
The  eye  of  heaven  is  out,  and  misty  night 
Covers  the  shame  that  follows  sweet  delight. 

Here,  of  course,  the  rhyme-words  themselves  might 
be  pitfalls,  for  in  the  verse  of  Shakespeare's  day 
a  poet  had  his  choice  between  old-fashioned  reso- 
luti-6n  and  new-fashioned  reso-lution,  and  in  the 
course  of  composing  his  stanza  might  chance  to 
forget  which  form  he  had  adopted  at  the  begin- 
ning.  It  is  perhaps  worth  noting  that  for  this 
stanza  the  Capell  MS.  of  1769  offers  an  emenda- 
tion. Capell,  being  particularly  interested  in 
Shakespeare's  metre,  had  perceived  the  irregularity 
of  resoluti-6n,  abso-lution,  disso-lution,  and  to  re- 
move it  suggested: 

My  will  is  back'd  with  dauntless  resolution — 

which  effectually  restores  the  balance.  For  the 
rhyme  in    Venus  and  Adonis  he   had   apparently 


176  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

no  suggestion  to  make — and  indeed  it  appears  to 
be  beyond  easy  and  plausible  emendation. 

A  third  passage  in  Shakespeare's  poems  was  more 
manageable,  the  second  quatrain  of  Sonnet  45: 

For  when  these  quicker  elements  are  gone 

In  tender  embassy  of  love  to  thee, 

My  life,  being  made  of  four,  with  two  alone 

Sinks  down  to  death,  oppress'd  with  melancholy. 

Capell,  observing  that  thee:  melan-choly  is,  to 
say  the  least,  according  to  modern  standards, 
very  lax,  and  being  doubtless  aware  that  in  the 
poetry  of  Shakespeare's  day  the  second  of  these 
words  could  still  be  accented  as  if  it  were  French, 
as  in  the  line  from  the  Faery  Queen  (I,  v,  3) 

To  drive  away  the  dull  melancholy — 

proposed  for  the  last  line  of  the  quatrain 
Sinks  down  to  death  press'd  by  melancholy. 

If  he  had  had  the  use  of  a  modern  concordance, 
he  might  have  observed,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
whenever  Shakespeare  brings  the  word  into  his 
verse  (which  he  does  some  forty  times)  he  always 
gives  it  the  modern  accent,  melancholy.  This 
fact  would  seem  to  dispose  not  only  of  Capell's 
emendation  but  of  the  chance  that  the  original 
rhyme  is  the  result  of  heedlessness.  Posteri-ty: 
obscurity  might  be  an  oversight,  and  also  resoluti- 
on :  abso-lution;  but  thee  :  melan-choly  is  too  glar- 
ing to  be  accounted  for  in  that  way.  The  poet, 
as  he  wrote,  must  have  been  aware  of  it.     And 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  177 

it  does  not  seem  attributable  to  blundering  by 
the  type-setter. 

This  odd  rhyme  is  matched  by  another  in  the 
Epilogue  to  Henry  VIII: 

All  the  expected  good  we're  like  to  hear 

For  this  play,  at  this  time,  is  only  in 

The  merciful  construction  of  good  women — 

upon  which  Collier  has  the  following  note  in  his 
second  edition  of  Shakespeare,  1858: — 'The  fault- 
iness  of  this  line  and  its  predecessor,  in  point  of 
rhyme,  has  been  remarked  upon  by  various  com- 
mentators, but  they  have  failed  to  point  out  any 
instance  where  ''women"  is  made  to  rhyme  with 
"only  in".  We  more  than  suspect  some  corrup- 
tion ....  It  would  have  required  very  little 
ingenuity  to  amend  the  defect,  and  possibly  some- 
thing of  this  sort  was  originally  written 

All  the  expected  good  we're  like  to  hear 

For  this  play,  at  this  time,  we  shall  not  owe  men, 

But  merciful  construction  of  good  women. 

.  .  .  .  Without  the  slightest  partiality  for  our 
own  experiment,  all  we  contend  for  is,  that  the 
defective  rhyme  betokens  corruption.' 

This  epilogue  is,  by  general  consent,  not  Shake- 
speare's. GiiTord  denied  vigorously  that  it  was 
written  by  Jonson,  to  whom  eighteenth  century 
critics  ascribed  it;  but  its  odd  rhyme  may  serve 
to  introduce  another  in  Jonson's  133rd  Epigram 
emended  by  Gilford  himself: 

This  wherry  had  no  sail,  too;  ours  had  none: 
And  in  it,  two  more  horrid  knaves  than  Charon. 

S— 12. 


178  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Here,  unable  to  tolerate  the  discord,  he  substituted 
for  none,  ne'er  one.  Ne'er  one:  Charon  is  sufficiently 
ingenious  to  deserve  some  praise.  Gifford  must 
have  noticed,  however,  that  there  are  several 
other  such  rhymes  in  Jonson's  non-dramatic  verse, 
enough  to  make  a  discreet  editor,  of  even  those 
spacious  times,  hesitate  to  emend  any  one  of  them 
away  because  he  did  not  like  or  understand  it 
and  could  think  of  a  plausible  substitute.  A  list 
of  them  may  at  this  point  be  worth  while: 

And  Giles  would  never, 
By  his  free-will,  be  in  Joan's  company: 
No  more  would  Joan  he  should.     Giles  riseth  early.  .  .  . 

Epigram  42 
Hath  chang'd  his  soul,  and  made  his  object  you: 
Where,  finding  so  much  beauty  met  with  virtue.  .  .  . 

Epigram  114 
When  gold  was  made  no  weapon  to  cut  throats, 
Or  put  to  flight  Astraea,  when  her  ingots .... 

The  Forest  12 
She  is  the  judge,  thou  executioner; 
Or  if  thou  needs  wouldst  trench  upon  her  power .... 

Underwoods:     Execration  upon  Vulcan,  1.47  f. 
To  have  that  final  retribution. 
Expected  with  the  flesh's  restitution. 

Underwoods:     Elegy  on  my  Muse,  1.49  f. 
Better  be  dumb  than  superstitious: 
Who  violates  the  Godhead  is  most  vicious. 
Underwoods:     Elegy  on  my  Muse,  1.73  f. 

When  these  scattering  rhymes  from  Shakespeare 
and  Jonson  are  brought  together  in  a  group,  it 
becomes  evident  that  to  treat  any  one  of  them  by 
itself  as  manifestly  'corrupt'  will  not  do.  They  may 
be  vicious,  but  they  are  not  casual.  They  follow 
an  observable  law  of  their  own,  which  can  be  formu- 
lated.    Clearly,  in  these  two  poets,  a  double  or  a 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  179 

triple  verse  ending  (early,  merrily)  may  on  occasion 
rhyme  with  the  normal  verse  ending  of  one 
stressed  syllable  (thee,  agree,  etc.)  if  its  concluding 
syllable,  however  light,  corresponds.  Moreover, 
as  will  be  shown,  Shakespeare  and  Jonson  are  by 
no  means  the  only  two  poets  concerned.  What  we 
have  here  is  a  bygone  mode  of  rhyming  so  alien  to 
our  main  traditions  that  we  can  hardly  believe  it 
was  ever  recognized  by  reputable  moderns.  To 
follow  its  course  through  Elizabethan  poetry  is  the 
aim  of  the  present  paper.  ^ 

A  few  points  by  way  of  limitation  or  guidance. 
In  the  first  place,  this  study  takes  no  account  of  the 
drama  in  any  of  its  forms;  for  to  sift  out  the  scat- 
tering couplets  and  passages  in  rhyme  from  the 
great  body  of  Elizabethan  dramatic  blank  verse 
seemed  a  labor  not  likely  to  be  worth  while.  In 
the  second  place,  it  deals  exclusively  with  poetry 
in  the  heroic  verse,  often  called  'iambic  penta- 
meter.' Casual  examples  of  the  kind  of  rhyme 
under  investigation  may  probably  exist  in  longer 
or  shorter  measures  (though  I  have  found  none), 
but  the  heroic  verse  seems  to  be  the  verse  in  which 
that  rhyme,  as  known  to  the  Elizabethans,  first 
made  itself  respectable,  and  is  certainly  the  verse  in 
which  it  mainly  flourished.  In  the  third  place,  the 
rhyme  can  be  classed  with  certainty  only  when 

^  Guest  in  his  History  of  English  Rhythms  (I,  145-147)  glances  at  the  prac- 
tice, without  attempting  to  follow  it  down  the  line.  Schipper  in  his  Englische 
Metrik  (I,  303,  note  2,  and  II,  143-145)  carries  the  discussion  of  this  "kaum 
glaubliches  Unding"  somewhat  further,  but  again  with  no  attempt  to  trace 
its  course.  What  he  has  to  say  is  in  good  part  grounded  on  Rudolf  Alscher's 
Sir  Thomas  Wyatt,  p.  119-126.  Nobody  seems  to  have  been  aware  how 
widespread  the  practice  was. 


180  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

there  is  no  fair  question  possible  about  the  move- 
ment or  scansion  of  the  verse.  The  matter  may 
be  illustrated  by  the  example  already  given  from 
Jonson — The  Forest  12.    In  the  second  line, 

Or  put  to  flight  Astraea  when  her  ingots, 

*Astraea'  may  either  be  read  as  three  full  syllables 
or  slurred  into  two,  and  upon  one's  choice  will 
depend  whether  or  not  'ingots*  is  to  be  accented  on 
the  first  syllable  or  on  the  second.  Contemporary 
practice  seems  to  allow  either.  This  rhyme,  there- 
fore, is  to  be  entered  as  doubtful. 

The  remote  origins  of  such  rhyming  need  not 
detain  us.  It  was  practised  long  before  Chaucer 
and  the  heroic  verse,  and  it  was  not  unknown  to 
the  versifiers  of  the  fifteenth  century  religious 
drama.  How  it  ever  won  acceptance  into  the  edu- 
cated poetry  of  the  Renaissance  might  repay  in- 
vestigation. One  possibility  may  be  suggested. 
In  Chaucer  himself  there  are  no  such  rhymes — at 
least,  not  in  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  Canter- 
bury Tales:  there  the  rhymes  are  all,  in  this  regard, 
exact.  To  the  men  of  the  early  sixteenth  century, 
however,  Chaucer  was  of  course  not  known  in  his 
original  text,  and  if  one  examines  Thynne's  edition 
of  1532,  one  can  see  how  misleading  his  supposed 
example  might  be.  In  the  interval  the  accentua- 
tion of  English  had  been  steadily  changing;  it  was 
changing  now  more  than  ever;  and  the  result  was 
naturally  a  disastrous  disorganization  of  rhyme. 
In  the  KnighVs  Tale,  for  instance  (A  1385)  Chaucer 
wrote 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  181 

Him  thoughte  how  that  the  winged  god  Mercuric 
Biforn  him  stood,  and  bad  him  to  be  murye. 

In  Thynne's  edition  this  reads 

Him  thought  howe  that  the  wynged  Mercury 
Beforne  him  stode  and  bade  him  to  be  mery. 

The  rhyme  is  evidently  Mercu-ry  :  mery.     Again, 
in  the  Monk's  Tale  (B  3163)  Chaucer  wrote 

Tragedie  is  to  seyn  a  certeyn  storie. 
As  olde  bokes  maken  us  memorie. 

Thynne  renders  it 

Tragedy  is  to  tel  a  certayn  story, 
As  olde  bokes  maken  memory. 

Here  the  rhyme  is  clearly  story  :  memo-ry.     In  the 
Tale  of  the  Man  of  Lawe  (B  197)  Chaucer  wrote 

In  sterres,  many  a  winter  ther-biforn, 
Was  writen  the  deeth  of  Ector,  Achilles, 
Of  Pompey,  Julius,  er  they  were  born; 
The  stryf  of  Thebes;  and  of  Ercules 


In  Thynne's  text  this  appears  as 

In  sterres,  many  a  wynter  there  byfore. 
Was  written  the  deth  of  Hector  and  of  Achylles, 
Of  Pompey  and  Julyus,  or  they  were  bore; 
The  stryfe  of  Thebes  and  of  Hercules 

Here  it  would  certainly  seem  that  the  rhyme  gave 
A-chylles  :  Hercu-les,  Examples  might  be  multi- 
plied, but  these  will  suffice  for  the  main  point,  that 
Chaucer,  as  he  appears  in  the  edition  of  Thynne, 
could  be  cited  as  authority  for  this  kind  of  rhyming. 


182  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

How  far  the  practice  prevailed  among  the  fol- 
lowers of  Chaucer — Lydgate,  Hawes,  and  the  rest — 
might  be  examined  if  the  examination  could  be 
made  to  yield  definite  results.  One  great  obstacle, 
however,  stands  in  the  way,  the  difficulty  of  de- 
termining just  how  their  verses  in  any  given  case, 
are  to  be  scanned  or  read.  Authorities  differ,  often 
with  unveiled  contempt  for  each  other,  and  where 
there  is  no  certainty  as  to  scansion  there  can  seldom 
be  certainty  as  to  rhyme.  Presumably,  in  a  period 
of  shifting  accents,  poets  who  fared  so  ill  with  the 
metre  of  their  great  original  would  not  fare  per- 
fectly well  with  his  rhyme,  and  after  all,  their  au- 
thority would  be  inferior  to  his.  It  may  be  wise, 
therefore,  to  proceed  at  once  to  Wyatt,  who  belongs 
in  part,  with  them,  to  the  old  order,  though  he  also 
helps  initiate  the  new.  He  presents  difficulties 
enough  of  his  own.  His  heroic  verse  is  almost,  if 
not  quite,  as  uncertain  in  movement  as  theirs,  and 
his  rhymes  are  correspondingly  obscure.  How  far 
he  may  have  been  influenced  in  his  defective 
rhymes  by  them  is  a  question  that  does  not  much 
concern  the  Elizabethans. 

Wyatt's  metre  and  rhyme  have  been  discussed 
thoroughly — in  1886  by  Rudolf  Alscher,  in  recent 
years  by  A.  K.  Foxwell:  all  that  need  be  done 
here,  therefore,  is  to  point  out  certain  tendencies 
and  results.  The  first  fact  to  be  noted  is  his  taste, 
more  particularly  perhaps  in  his  early  verse,  for 
ending  his  lines  with  words  of  more  than  one  syl- 
lable— a  taste  that  he  probably  derived  from  the 
Ghaucerians.    A  second  fact  is  that  the  final  sylla- 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  183 

bles  of  these  words  are  often  mere  forms  of  inflec- 
tion, -eth,  'ing,  -ed,  etc.  A  third  fact  is  that  he 
holds  to  no  settled  habit  in  the  accentuation  of 
words,  stressing  sometimes  the  final  syllable,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  sometimes  an  antecedent  root 
syllable.  An  extraordinary  number  of  his  lines  end 
with  syllables  naturally  light,  and  these  sometimes 
bear  the  whole  burden  of  the  rhyme,  sometimes 
not.  The  result  is  naturally  a  number  of  rhymes 
that  have  every  appearance  of  being,  in  one  way 
or  another,  defective.  In  any  one  case,  the  ques- 
tion depends,  of  course,  on  how  the  line  as  a  whole 
is  to  be  scanned,  and  here,  as  has  been  said,  the 
difficulty  is  to  be  sure.  As  good  an  example  as 
any  is  the  epigram  quoted  by  Guest  (I,  146).  It  is 
given  here  with  the  spelling,  for  convenience, 
slightly  less  archaic,  and  the  punctuation  modern- 
ized. 

Ryght  true  it  is,  and  said  full  yore  ago, 

'Take  heed  of  him  that  by  thy  back  thee  claweth*; 

For  none  is  wourse  than  is  a  friendly  foe, 

Though  they  seem  good.     All  thing  that  thee  deliteth. 

Yet  knowe  it  well,  that  in  thy  bosom  creepeth. 

For  many  a  man  such  fier  oft  kindeleth 

That  with  the  blaze  his  beard  singeth. 

Here  it  seems  evident  that  the  second,  fourth  and 
fifth  lines  have  their  last  metrical  stress  on  the 
penult,  and  that  in  these  double  endings  it  is  the 
light  syllable  {-eth)  that  alone  carries  the  rhyme. 
In  the  last  two  lines  the  metrical  stress  falls  ap- 
parently on  the  -eth,  which  constitutes  therefore 
a  masculine  rhyme,  different  from  the  preceding. 


184  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Out  of  practice  like  that  one  might  expect  almost 
anything — certainly  rhymes  of  the  variety  we  are 
investigating.  Another  epigram  seems  to  give  us 
one  of  them: 

Of  Cartage  he  that  worthie  warrier 

Could  overcome,  but  could  not  use  his  chaunce; 

And  I  likewise  of  all  my  long  endever .... 

Warri-er  :  en-dever.  Another  is  at  the  beginning  of 
a  sonnet: 

I  fynde  no  peace  and  all  my  war  is  done .... 
And  nought  I  have  and  all  the  worold  I  seize  on 
That  looseth  nor  locketh  holdeth  me  in  prison.  .  .  . 

Here  seize  on  and  prison  rhyme  with  done. 
Yet  another  is  in  Wyatt's  version  of  Psalm  130, 
in  terza  rima: 

From  depth  of  sin  and  from  a  deep  dispaire, 
From  depth  of  death,  from  depth  of  heartes  sorrow, 
From  this  deep  cave,  of  darkness  deep  repaire. 
To  Thee  have  I  call'd,  0  Lord,  to  be  my  borrow. 
Thou  in  my  voyce,  0  Lord,  perceive  and  hear 
My  heart,  my  hope,  my  plaint  my  overthrow .... 

Sorrow  :  borrow  :  over-throw.  These  among  many 
examples,  often  doubtful,  will  suffice  for  Wyatt. 
Wyatt's  poetry,  however,  was  known  to  later 
Elizabethans  mainly  in  the  text  of  the  so-called 
TotteVs  Miscellany,  a  text  edited  with  the  idea  of 
reducing  his  difficult  and  archaic  verse,  as  far  as 
might  be,  to  the  normal  iambic  movement  which 
had  begun  to  prevail  in  his  later  years  among  his 
successors.  The  examples  that  have  been  quoted 
here  from   the   earlier   and   authentic   manuscript 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  185 

versions  are  left  by  Tottel  pretty  much  as  they 
stand,  the  rhymes  unimproved.  One  may  note  as 
a  curiosity  that,  in  other  passages,  Tottel's  desire 
to  regularize  the  metre  has  resulted  in  the  falsify- 
ing of  rhymes  that  in  the  original  are  sound.  A 
single  instance  may  be  enough.  At  the  outset  of 
one  of  his  sonnets  Wyatt  wrote 

You  that  in  love  finde  lucke  and  habundaunce .... 
Arise,  I  say,  do  May  some  observaunce. 

Tottel  (that  is,  his  editor),  not  liking  the  Romance 
accent  of  the  first  rhyme-word,  or  thinking  that 
the  accent  intended  was  the  English  abundance 
and  the  verse  therefore  defective,  inserted  a  syllable 
to  fill  out  the  measure: 

Ye  that  in  love  find  luck  and  swete  abundance. 

Since  he  left  the  other  verse  as  it  stood,  there  re- 
sulted a  defective  rhyme  for  which  Wyatt,  with  so 
many  already  in  his  reckoning,  was  not  responsible. 
The  poetic  generation  that  followed  Wyatt  was 
that  during  which  English  verse  was  definitely  re- 
established upon  an  iambic  basis.  All  the  leaders 
were  concerned  with  regularity  of  metrical  move- 
ment. Much  of  the  poetry  of  the  time  was  written 
in  the  most  monotonous  of  English  verse-forms, 
the  so-called  'poulter's  measure,'  which  was  not 
only  overwhelmingly  regular  in  itself,  but  a  cause 
that  regularity  was  in  other  measures,  such  as  heroic 
verse.  In  a  generation  so  concerned,  one  would 
not  look  for  license  in  rhyme.  English  poets 
rhyme    more   frequently   on    monosyllabic   words. 


186  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

and,  by  comparison  with  the  generation  before, 
their  rhymes  are  exact.  One  looks  in  vain  in 
Surrey  and  Grimald  and  Googe  and  Gascoigne 
for  such  rhymes  as  we  have  noted  in  Wyatt.  Had 
these  men  been  able  to  impose  their  doctrine  on 
all  about  them,  the  practice  of  the  old  license 
would  have  gone  completely  out  of  date.  Along 
with  them,  however,  there  was  a  group  that  had 
not  yet  freed  itself  completely  from  the  former 
style,  the  poets  of  the  Mirror  for  Magistrates, 
Some  of  these  men,  George  Ferrers,  for  instance, 
still  wrote  in  the  irregular  verse  of  decadent 
Chaucerianism,  and  many  of  them  whose  metrical 
movement  was  modern  rhymed  after  the  old 
model.  Sackville,  the  only  real  talent  of  the  group, 
may  be  acquitted  on  that  score,  if  one  rules  out  a 
rather  doubtful  rhyme  in  the  49th  stanza  of  his 
Buckingham.  On  the  excuse  of  uncertain  metre 
one  may  also  rule  out  a  few  probable  cases  in 
Ferrers.  Enough  survive  from  a  cursory  examina- 
tion of  the  other  poets  in  the  group  to  prove  the 
main  point: 

But  windes  and  weather  were  so  contrary, 

That  wee  were  driven  to  the  English  coast, 

Which  realme  with  Scotland  at  that  time  did  vary .... 

James  /,  st.  7. 
The  while  King  Henry  conquered  in  Fraunce 
1  sued  the  warres  and  still  found  victory 
In  all  assaultes,  so  happy  was  my  chaunce. 
Holdes  yeelde  or  won  did  make  my  enemies  sory: 
Dame  Prudence  eke  augmented  so  my  glory.  .  .  . 

Salisbury,  st.  14. 
But  seing  causes  are  the  chiefest  thinges 
That  should  be  noted  of  the  story  wryters, 
That  men  may  learne  what  endes  all  causes  bringes, 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  187 

They  be  unworthy  the  name  of  chroniclers 
That  leave  them  cleane  out  of  theyr  registers .... 

Worcester,  st.  5. 

To  continue  would  serve  no  clear  purpose.     The 
old  tradition  was  evidently  being  preserved. 

Next  come  the  pair  with  whom  the  greater 
Elizabethan  poetry  begins,  Sidney  and  Spenser. 
They  are  commonly  associated,  and  in  many  of 
their  ideals  they  are,  needless  to  say,  in  agreement. 
Both,  too,  were  powerfully  influenced  by  the  new 
literature  of  Italy  and  France.  In  temperament, 
however,  they  were  wholly  unlike,  and  in  one 
obvious  point  their  styles  are  altogether  differ- 
ent: Sidney  did  not  share  Spenser's  taste  for 
archaism.  It  will  be  remembered  that  he  disap- 
proved of  the  'old  rustic  language'  of  the  Shep- 
herd's Calendar.  One  is  therefore  not  surprised  to 
discover  that,  in  the  matter  of  rhymes,  he  is  much 
more  distinctly  modern.  In  both  rhyme  and  metre 
he  was  a  great  experimentalist,  the  Eclogues  of 
the  Arcadia  being  a  kind  of  exercise  book  in  exotic 
measures:  in  spite,  or  perhaps  because,  of  this,  he 
allows  himself  none  of  the  licenses  in  rhyme 
that  had  been  tolerated  by  the  older  poets.  But 
Spenser,  great  artist  though  he  was,  did  not 
choose  to  deny  himself  what  he  perhaps  consid- 
ered one  charm  of  that  earlier  poetry  in  which  he 
so  much  delighted.  All  down  the  line,  in  his  work, 
one  comes  upon  rhymes  of  the  old  order.  In  the 
more  archaic  portions  of  the  Calendar  the  verse 
proceeds  too  much  by  irregular  stress  for  us  to  be 


188  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

sure  about  the  rhymes,  but  cases  like  the  follow- 
ing seem  clear  (May,  99  f.) 

That  with  her  hard  hold  and  straight  embracing 
She  stoppeth  the  breath  of  her  youngUng — 

where  the  cadence  indicates  em-brdcing:  young- 
ling. On  the  whole,  though,  the  Calendar  does 
not  well  illustrate  this  style  of  rhyming.  As  the 
poet's  first  publication,  brought  out  with  many 
misgivings,  it  was  perhaps  edited  cautiously.  In 
other  presumably  early  work  we  find  more  freedom: 

Made  of  the  mettall  that  we  most  do  honour.  . . . 
The  ashes  of  a  mightie  emperour. 

Visions  of  Bellay   III. 
Cruell  death  vanquishing  so  noble  beautie 
Oft  makes  me  wayle  so  hard  a  destenie. 

Visions  of  Petrarch  I. 
One  foote  on  Thetis,  th'  other  on  the  Morning .... 
Both  heaven  and  earth  in  roundnesse  compassing. 

Ruins  of  Rome  IV. 
The  same  which  Pyrrhus  and  the  puissaunce 
Of  Afrike  could  not  tame,  that  same  brave  citie, 
Which,  with  stout  courage  arm'd  against  mischaunce, 
Sustein'd  the  shocke  of  common  enmitie .... 

Ruins  of  Rome,  XXI. 

As  we  advance  to  later  work  the  list  does  not 
much  diminish.  In  the  Hragicke  pageants'  that 
conclude  the  Ruins  of  Time  we  find  (1.  551  ff.) 

Not  that  great  arche  which  Trajan  edifide, 
To  be  a  wonder  to  all  age  ensuing, 
Was  matchable  to  this  in  equall  vewing. 
But  ah!  what  bootes  it  to  see  earthlie  thing.  . .  . 

According  to  the  rhyme-scheme  adopted  for  these 
'pageants,'   thing    is  supposed  to  rhyme  with  en- 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  189 

suing,  vewing.      Mother    Hubberd's   Tale   furnishes 
several  examples: 

And  his  hose  broken  high  above  the  heeUng, 

And  his  shoes  beaten  out  with  traveling  (1.  213  f.) 

And  his  man  Reynold  with  fine  counterfesaunce 
Supports  his  credit  and  his  countenaunce  (1.  667  f.) 

....  blot  his  brutish  name 
Unto  the  world,  that  never  after  anie 
Should  of  his  race  be  voyd  of  infamie.     (1.  1240  fl.) 

Even  Muiopotmos,  the  most  delicate  and  exquisite 
of  his  minor  poems,  is  not,  in  this  matter,  exact. 

It  fortuned  (as  heavens  had  behight) 

That  in  this  gardin,  where  yong  Clarion 

Was  wont  to  solace  him,  a  wicked  wight, 

The  foe  of  faire  things,  th'  author  of  confusion 

The  shame  of  Nature,  the  bondslave  of  spite, 

Had  lately  built  his  hateful!  mansion.  ...  (1.  241  ff.) 

In  the  poems  published  during  the  last  few  years 
of  his  life  he  continues  the  practice  as  before. 
There  are  three  examples  in  Colin  ClouVs  Come 
Home  Again,  all  of  the  resoluti-on-abso-lution 
type  that  we  have  found  in  The  Rape  of  Lucrece: 

Phyllis,  the  floure  of  rare  perfection, 

Faire  spreading  forth  her  leaves  with  fresh  delight. 

That,  with  their  beauties  amorous  reflexion, 

Bereave  of  sence  each  rash  beholders  sight.     (1.  544  IT.) 

There  she  beholds  with  high  aspiring  thought. 

The  cradle  of  her  owne  creation, 

Emongst  the  seats  of  angels  heavenly  wrought. 

Much  like  an  angell  in  all  forme  and  fashion.     (1.  612  ff.) 

But  man,  that  had  the  sparke  of  reasons  might, 

More  then  the  rest  to  rule  his  passion, 

Chose  for  his  love  the  fairest  in  his  sight, 

Like  as  himself  was  fairest  by  creation.     (1.  867ff.) 


190  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Another  example  of  the  same  type  is  to  be  found 
in   the    Hymn   in    Honour  of  Love,    (1.  190  ff.) 

Such  is  the  powre  of  that  sweet  passion, 
That  it  all  sordid  basenesse  doth  expell, 
And  the  refyned  mynd  doth  newly  fashion .... 

Finally,  there  is  the  rhyme  at  the  outset  of  Sonnet 
LI  of  the  Amoretti, 

Doe  I  not  see  that  fayrest  ymages 

Of  hardest  marble  are  of  purpose  made, 

For  that  they  should  endure  through  many  ages .... 

When  we  turn  from  these  minor  poems  of  Spen- 
ser to  his  Faery  Queen,  we  fmd  that,  in  proportion 
to  bulk,  such  rhymes  are  rare:  there  are  but  four  of 
them  in  all.  Perhaps  he  felt  that  they  were  out  of 
keeping  with  the  dignity  of  the  epical  style;  per- 
haps he  felt  that  they  marred  the  peculiar  music  of 
his  great  stanza.  It  is  noteworthy  that  but  one 
of  the  four  is  in  the  first  three  books,  those  which 
he  worked  upon  most  deliberately. 

For  els  my  feeble  vessell,  crazed  and  crackt 
Through  thy  strong  buffets  and  outrageous  blowes, 
Cannot  endure,  but  needes  it  must  be  wrackt 
On  the  rough  rocks,  or  on  the  sandy  shallowes. 
The  whiles  that  Love  it  steres,  and  Fortune  rowes. 

(Ill,  iv,  9.) 

In  these  books,  in  fact,  Spenser  will  go  to  the 
point  of  violating  the  natural  accent  of  a  word  in 
order  to  keep  his  rhyme  true,  as  in  I,  vi,  26: 

Wyld  beastes  in  yron  yokes  he  would  compell; 
The  spotted  panther  and  the  tusked  bore. 
The  pardale  swift,  and  the  tigre  cruell. 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  191 

Other  examples  are  furnished  by  I,  ii,  9;  I,  x,  37; 
II,  V,  17,  28;  III,  iv,  53.  In  Books  IV-VI,  on  the 
other  hand,  such  forcing  of  accent  is  rarer,  and 
what  is  of  particular  note,  double  endings,  which 
are  scarce  in  Books  I-III,  become  exceedingly 
common.  Under  such  a  change  in  habits,  it  is 
perhaps  not  singular  that  imperfect  rhymes  of 
the  masculine-feminine  combination  (one  is 
tempted  to  call  them  epicene)  should  occur  more 
often.     The  first  is  in  IV,  xii,  34: 

Who  soone  as  he  beheld  that  angels  face, 
Adorn'd  with  all  divine  perfection, 
His  cheared  heart  eftsoones  away  gan  chace 
Sad  death,  revived  with  her  sweet  inspection. 
And  feeble  spirit  inly  felt  refection. 

The  others,  which  are  of  the  same  type,  may  be 
found  in  V,  ii,  28  and  V,  v,  26. 

The  influence  of  Spenser  in  keeping  an  old 
practice  like  this  alive  would  naturally  be  great, 
especially  among  the  less  vigorous  spirits  of  his 
time.  It  may  be  suspected  in  the  case  of  Thomas 
Watson.  Watson's    Hekatompathia,    published 

three  years  after  the  Shepherd's  Calendar,  in  1582, 
is  entirely  independent  of  that  poem  and  its  style; 
the  rhyme-words  are  mostly  monosyllables,  double 
rhymes  are  very  rare,  and  there  is  no  trace  of  the 
old  laxity.  It  is  one  of  the  most  regular  and  frigid 
poems  of  the  age.  By  1590,  however,  when  he 
published  a  translation  of  his  own  Latin  eclogue 
on  the  death  of  Walsingham,  Watson  had  in  some 
slight  degree  altered  his  style,  and  though  the 
praise  of  Spenser  in  that  poem  has  no  particular 


192  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

significance,  there  is  one  example  of  the  laxity 
in  rhyming  that  Spenser  practised  (Arber's  Re- 
print, p.   165): 

0  heards  and  tender  flocks,  0  handsmooth  plains, 
0  Eccho  dwelling  both  in  mount  and  vallie, 
0  groves  and  bubling  springs,  0  nimphs,  0  swains, 
0  young  and  old,  0  weepe  all  Arcadie. 

Later  still,  in  The  Tears  of  Fancy,  1593,  he  altered 
his  manner  of  rhyming  fundamentally.  Double 
rhymes  become  almost  the  rule,  and  laxities  of 
various  kinds  are  frequent  enough  to  attract  atten- 
tion. One  example  may  suffice  here,  from  sonnet 
46: 

Envying  that  anie  should  in  joy  her  image, 
Since  all  unworthie  were  of  such  an  honor, 
Tho  gan  shee  mee  command  to  leave  my  gage, 
The  first  end  of  my  joy,  last  cause  of  dolor. 

*Tho  gan  shee  mee  command'  is  definitely  Spen- 
serian— more  so,  it  must  be  admitted,  than  Wat- 
son's habitual  language.  If  that,  however,  is 
commonly  his  own,  the  rhymes  may  not  unfairly 
be  ascribed  to  the  influence,  direct  or  indirect, 
of  Spenser.  Other  interesting  examples  may  be 
found  in  sonnets  31  and  33. 

Barnfield,  a  second  minor  poet  of  the  day,  known 
mainly  by  that  sonnet  on  Dowland  and  Spenser 
formerly  ascribed  to  Shakespeare  ('If  music  and 
sweet  poetry  agree'),  has  left  in  another  of  his 
poems,  Cassandra,  a  couple  of  rhymes  of  which 
one  may  be  worth  quoting,  for  the  sake  of  com- 
pleteness    (ed.  Arber,  p.  73) : 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  193 

Which  when  Aurora  saw,  and  saw  'twas  shee. 
Even  shee  her  selfe  whose  far-renowmed  fame 
Made  all  the  world  to  wonder  at  her  beauty .... 

One  more  follower  of  Spenser  must  be  brought 
into  the  reckoning,  Edward  Fairfax,  translator  of 
Tasso's  great  romance-epic.  His  debt  to  Spenser 
in  the  matter  of  language  does  not  need  to  be  re- 
stated, and  he  was  obviously  influenced  by  him  in 
the  matter  of  rhyme.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore, 
that  in  at  least  two  cases  he  has  given  us  rhymes 
of  the  kind  we  are  following  up.     In  I,  66: — 

'Prepare  you  then  for  travaile  strong  and  light, 

Fierce  to  the  combat,  glad  to  victorie.' 

And  with  that  word  and  warning  soone  was  dight 

Each  soldier,  longing  for  neere  comming  glorie. 

Impatient  be  they  of  the  morning  bright, 

Of  honour  so  them  prickt  the  memorie .... 

The  same  rhyme-words  may  be  found  in  the  same 
order  in  VIII,  15. 

Next  to  Spenser  in  chronological  order  may  be 
set  Daniel  and  Drayton.  With  them  we  come 
suddenly  to  a  change.  Daniel  begins,  in  his  Delia 
and  Rosamond,  with  more  double  rhymes  than  any 
Elizabethan  hitherto  has  allowed  himself,  but  they 
are  all  careful,  if  not  exact,  and  one  looks  among 
them  in  vain  for  the  old  licence.  In  the  various 
poems  long  and  short  that  follow  these,  The  Civil 
Wars,  the  addresses,  etc.,  there  is  a  complete  and 
thorough-going  reaction;  double  endings  disappear 
almost  totally,  and  with  them,  one  would  think, 
the  probability  of  rhymes  of  the  old  order.  Yet  it 
is  in  one  of  these  later  poems  that  is  to  be  found 

S— 13. 


194  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

the  sole  example  of  the  species  in  all  Daniel's 
work.  It  occurs  in  the  Funeral  Poem  on  the  Earl 
of  Devonshire  (1.  193  ff.): 

And  he  out  of  his  native  modesty 
(As  being  no  undertaker)  labours  too 
To  have  avoided  that  which  his  ability 
And  England's  genius  would  have  him  do. 

One  half  suspects  mere  carelessness — one  would 
suspect  it  if  Daniel  were  a  less  scrupulous  poet.  In 
any  case,  despite  this  lapse,  he  has  clearly  broken 
with  the  old  tradition. 

Drayton  is  too  voluminous  a  poet,  and  his 
poems  appeared  in  too  many  successive  forms,  for 
exhaustive  examination.  The  longest  of  them  all, 
however,  Polyolbion,  being  in  alexandrine  coup- 
lets, does  not  concern  us,  and  the  other  volumes 
published  by  the  Spenser  Society  give  enough  of 
his  work  in  heroic  verse  for  a  reasonably  sufficient 
survey.  His  method  of  rhyming  differs  from 
Daniel's:  he  makes  use  of  double  endings  freely, 
but  not  profusely,  all  down  the  line;  and  his  rhymes 
are  probably  more  exact.  No  instance  of  rhyming 
on  the  light  syllable  of  a  double  or  a  triple  ending 
is  to  be  found.  He  proceeds  on  his  way,  sometimes 
uncouth  (when  he  aims  at  romantic  beauty  or 
tragic  impressiveness),  often  tedious  (when  he 
assumes  the  role  of  historian),  but  always  inde- 
fatigable and  business-like — a  good  workman  who 
is  rewarded  by  occasional  rare  moments  of  in- 
spiration. Elizabethan  as  he  is,  his  verse  reminds 
one  at  times  not  a  little  of  the  orderliness  of  a 
later  age. 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  195 

A  third  among  the  poets  who  succeeded  Spenser 
is  John  Donne,  the  metrical  character  of  whose 
verse  is  so  notoriously  eccentric  that  one  might  be 
disposed,  before  examining  it,  to  expect  almost  any 
freaks  of  rhyming.  Its  main  traits,  in  so  far  as  they 
concern  us,  are  well  enough  illustrated  by  the  fol- 
lowing couplet  (Satire,  IV,  101  f.): 

He  knows  who  loves;  whom;  and  who  by  poyson 
Hasts  to  an  offices  reversion. 

Poyson  for  Poison  is  a  good  example  of  that  *not 
keeping  of  accent'  for  which  Ben  Jonson  de- 
clared that  Donne  'deserved  hanging.'  In  this 
place  it  indicates  also  another  of  the  traits  of 
Donne's  verse,  his  distaste  for  double  endings:  an 
overwhelming  majority  of  his  rhymes  are  mascu- 
line. When  he  ends  a  line  with  a  word  like  rever- 
sion, it  is  almost  invariably  in  the  old  measure,  as 
here,  reversi-on.  He  is  fond  of  putting  a  rhetor- 
ically unemphatic  me  or  thee  in  the  position  of 
metrical  stress  at  the  rhyme,  as  in  Satire  I,  35  f : 

As  though  all  thy  companions  should  make  thee 
Jointures,  and  marry  thy  deare  company — 

where  Drayton  would  have  rhymed  double,  make 
thee.  Even  words  like  spirit  appear  in  the  rhyme 
as  spirit  (Holy  Sonnets  XVI).  Despite  these 
proclivities,  Donne  does  occasionally  rhyme  ac- 
cording to  the  old  license: 

And  jolly  statesmen,  which  teach  how  to  tie 
The  sinewes  of  a  cities  mistique  bodie. 

Satire  I,  7  f. 


196  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Or  let  me  creepe  to  some  dread  conjurer, 

That  with  phantastique  scheames  fils  full  much  paper. 

Elegy  XI,  59  f. 
The  hold  and  wast 
With  a  salt  dropsie  clog'd,  and  all  our  tacklings 
Snapping,  like  too-high-tuned  treble  strings. 

The  Storm,  1.  54-56. 
Urg'd  by  this  unexcusable  occasion, 
Thee  and  the  saint  of  his  affection 
Leaving  behinde .... 

To  Mr.  C.  B.  1.  2  IT. 

Such,  rhymes,  however,  are  all  in  his  earlier  verse, 
so  much  of  which  is  deliberately  extravagant;  and 
there  they  are  not  inappropriate.  In  his  mature 
and  highly  serious  work  they  disappear  altogether. 
In  the  poets  hitherto  examined,  rhymes  of  this 
peculiar  combination,  which  links  the  one  stressed 
syllable  with  the  double  or  triple  ending,  have 
been  scattered  and  few.  Even  in  Spenser  they  are 
no  more  than  occasional,  rather  rare  deviations 
from  the  rules  generally  accepted.  But  now  we 
come  to  a  poet  in  whose  verse  they  play  an  alto- 
gether more  important  part — George  Chapman. 
In  1594  he  began  his  literary  career  with  a  poem 
of  less  than  a  thousand  lines.  The  Shadow  of  Night, 
which  contains  as  many  such  rhymes  as  are  to  be 
found  in  the  works  of  Spenser  at  large.  In  his  vol- 
ume of  1595,  the  chief  poem  of  which  is  Ovid's 
Banquet  of  Sense,  these  rhymes,  though  not  so 
frequent,  are  still  very  noticeable;  and  by  1598, 
in  his  continuation  of  Marlowe's  exquisite  Hero 
and  Leander  (which  itself  contains  none  at  all), 
they  have  become  again  so  prominent  that  one 
reads  with  a  sense  of  wondering  when  the  next  will 


AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME  197 

turn  Up.  Some  of  them  are  almost  unbelievable — 
as  those  in  the  self-justification  of  Hero  after 
Leander's  departure  (III,  357  ff,): 

Hero  Leander  is,  Leander  Hero; 
Such  virtue  love  hath  to  make  one  of  two. 
If,  then,  Leander  did  my  maidenhead  git, 
Leander  being  myself,  I  still  retain  it — 

in  which  the  conceit  and  the  rhymes  seem  to  be 
contending  for  the  palm  of  grotesqueness.  Per- 
haps, indeed,  it  might  almost  have  been  expected 
that  the  poet  of  that  day  whose  original  work  is 
the  most  turbidly  fantastic  and  the  least  regulated 
by  critical  common  sense  should  be  the  one  to 
stretch  an  incidental  license  of  rhyming  into  a 
settled  and  vicious  habit.  An  inventory  of  these 
volumes  will  be  worth  while:  to  quote  examples 
at  length  would  not. 

1594.  The  Shadow  of  Night:  Hymnus  in  Nociem.  heart: 
desart  (57) — strings:  doings  (195) — wings:  lodgings  (215) — 
bands:  garlands  (245) — mace:  palace  (386) — incantati-ons: 
passions  (392).  Hymnus  in  Cynthiam.  face:  palace  (9) — 
away:  harpey  (21) —  lury:  augur^"  (74) — hands:  garlands 
(90) — fire:  empire  (128) — happiness:  mistress  (255) — glories: 
sacrifice  (273)— beasts:  forests  (295) — slaughtersome:  king- 
dom (382) — treasures:  pleasures  (404) — stand:  garland  (454) 
— dead:  godhead  (475) — Endymion:  alone  (483) — strong: 
furlong  (511). 

1595.  Ovid's  Banquet  of  Sense,  access:  goddess  (57) — 
Niobe:  Phoebe  (91) — embrace:  palace  (408) — Elysium: 
kingdom  (514) — then:  women  (559) — sues:  virtues  (830) — 
feeling:  king  (932) — lie:  honey  (983).  A  Coronet  for  his 
Mistress  Philosophy,  rages:  images  (VI) — pen:  women  (IX). 
The  Amorous  Zodiac.  Venus:  bounteous  (IX) — hear:  water 
(XXIX). 

1598.  Hero  and  Leander.  story:  memory  (III,  191) — 
Cupid:  chid  (III,  211)— Hero:  two;  git:  retain  it  (III,  357)— 
were:     Leander    (III,    401) — only:     eye    (IV,    31) — Leander: 


198  AN    ELIZABETHAN    RHYME 

sphere  (IV,  45)— body:  imply  (IV,  81)— sing:  leading  (IV,  99) 
— glory:  history;  Abydos:  propiti-ous  (IV,  127) — nature: 
cure  (IV,  137)— lily:  spy  (V,  215)— valour:  allure  (V,  247)— 
Shamefastness:  goddess  (V,  375) — pursue:  virtue  (VI,  88) 
Leander:     her  (VI.  260). 

Such  a  debauch  of  licentious  rhyming  could 
hardly  be  persisted  in,  even  by  a  man  of  Chapman's 
constitution.  After  1598  we  notice  a  change. 
There  comes  an  interval  during  which  he  worked 
almost  exclusively  in  the  drama  and  on  his  trans- 
lation of  the  Iliad,  and  when  he  next  publishes 
an  original  poem  of  any  bulk,  The  Tears  of  Peace, 
in  1609,  its  1200  lines  contain  but  two  examples 
of  the  old  vice,  one  of  these  doubtful.  The  Epi- 
cedium  of  1612  (about  700  lines)  contains  one; 
Andromeda  Liberata,  of  1614,  (about  500  lines) 
contains  none  at  all;  Eugenia,  of  1614,  (about  1000 
lines)  contains  one.  A  few  are  scattered  among 
the  shorter  poems,  many  of  which,  however,  are 
altogether  without  them.  A  list  is  given  here 
only  for  the  sake  of  completeness. 

Tears  of  Peace,  glory:  memoTy  (Induct io) — circu-it:  spirit. 
Hymn  to  Christ  upon  the  Cross,  spring:  meaning — more: 
odour.  A  Sleight  Man.  can:  woman — evermore:  imitator. 
Fragment  of  Tears  of  Peace,  errs:  misers.  Of  Constancy  in 
Goodness,  own:  common.  Epicedium.  are:  fever.  Sonnet 
to  Countess  of  Bedford,  vulgar:  rare.  Eugenia.  relati-6n: 
fashion. 

To  go  through  all  Chapman's  translated  verse 
in  quest  of  this  license  would  hardly  repay  the 
labor.  Apparently,  as  was  natural,  he  there  held 
himself  to  stricter  standards.  His  Iliad,  being 
written  in  'fourteeners',  does  not  concern  us;  but 


SONNETS    AND    PLAYS  199 

in  the  first  book  of  his  Odyssey  (1614)  there  are 
no  examples  of  it,  nor  are  there  any  in  his  version 
of  Musaeus  (1616).  In  the  first  of  his  Georgics  of 
Hesiod  (1618)  there  is  one:  offences:  senses:  sen- 
tences. Double  endings,  though  not  rare,  are 
not  at  all  common;  they  are  proportionately  much 
more  numerous  in  his  original  verse. 

The  year  1598,  which  marks  the  crisis  in  Chap- 
man's habits  of  rhyming,  saw  the  publication  of 
Marston's  Satires.  These  outbursts  of  a  swash- 
buckler muse,  as  one  might  expect,  are  full  of 
the  same  license.  They  are  emphatic,  voluble, 
loose,  and  in  the  matter  of  rhyme  rather  disdain- 
fully indifferent. 

His  ruffe  did  eate  more  time  in  neatest  setting 
Then  Woodstocks  worke  in  painfull  perfecting  (III) 

is  characteristic  enough  and  by  no  means  the  worst 
rhyme  of  the  volume.  The  satires  of  Marston's 
antagonist.  Bishop  Hall,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
in  this  matter  very  strict.  The  rhymes  are  almost 
without  exception  masculine,  and  frequently  when 
the  verse  leads  Hall  up  to  the  very  brink  of  a 
double  ending,  he  avoids  the  pitfall  by  a  forcing 
of  accent,  as  in  Book  HI,  Satire  I: 

As  for  the  thrice  three-angled  beech-nut  shell, 
Or  chestnut's  armed  husk  and  hid  kernell.  .  .  . 

where  either  Chapman  or  Marston  would  have 
preferred  the  natural  accent  and  a  mixed  rhyme. 
There  are  no  such  rhymes  in  all  the  six  books  of 
Hall's  Satires. 


200  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

With   Hall   this   study   may   be   concluded,   for 
he  points  forward  to  the  time  when  the  mode  of 
rhyming  that   we   have   had   under   consideration 
was  to  become  definitely  impossible.     How  long  it 
lingered    as    an    outworn    fashion    among    belated 
poets  of  the  older  schools  could  doubtless  be  dis- 
covered, but  by  1600  it  was  already  evidently  on 
the  wane,  and  to  follow  it  painstakingly  through 
its  final  stage  seems  hardly  worth  while.     In  the 
very  year  in  which  Jonson  wrote  his  Execration 
upon    Vulcan,    which   contains   one   of   the   latest 
examples  of  it,  Edmund  Waller  composed  his  first 
characteristic  verses.    Of  the   Danger  his   Majesty 
Escaped  in  the  Road    at  Saint  Andrews,  and  with 
Waller  in  the  field,  not  to  speak  of  Carew  and 
Herrick,    and    with    Milton    just    coming    in,    it 
is  clearly  time  to  stop.     In  the  course  of  the  pre- 
ceding survey  many  poets  of  varying  degrees  of 
merit  and  demerit  have  had  to  be  omitted  simply 
because  the  survey  could  not  be  all-inclusive.    The 
danger  of  too  hurried  a  conclusion  is  slight.     The 
main  course  of  the  fashion  from  beginning  to  end 
seems  to  be  sufficiently  clear. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  SONNETS  AND   PLAYS 

ARTHUR    BEATTY 


I 


Recent  criticism  of  the  Sonnets  of  Shakespeare 
has  resulted  in  a  stalemate.  The  identity  of  ''Mr. 
W.  H.,"  of  the  "rival  poet,"  and  of  the  "dark  lady," 
has  been  examined  and  re-examined  in  each  case; 
and  today  the  testimony  in  support  of  the  various 
claimants  is  so  nicely  balanced  that  the  advantage 
seems  to  lie  with  none.  The  fundamental  position 
of  critics  like  Tyler,  Dowden,  Wyndham,  and 
Beeching  has  been  attacked  by  Sidney  Lee,  in  his 
well-known  life  of  Shakespeare  and  elsewhere,^ 
on  the  ground  that  the  Sonnets  do  not  contain  real, 
personal  feeling,  but  are  a  series  of  literary  exer- 
cises written  in  imitation  of  French  sonneteers  and 
in  the  general  tradition  of  the  English  literary  con- 
vention. This  attack  on  the  more  old-fashioned 
critics  has  been  carried  forward  by  R.  M.  Alden^, 
who  argues  that  the  sonnets  fail  to  show  any  de- 
velopment or  internal  arrangement  that  will  justify 

*  His  final  statement  is  found  in  the  new  edition  of  the  Life  of  Shake- 
speare, 1916. 

2  "The  Quarto  Arrangements  of  Shakespeare's  Sonnets,"  in  Anniversary 
Papers  by  Colleagues  and  Pupils  of  George  Lyman  Kittredge,  1913.  A  fuller 
presentation  of  the  matter  is  made  in  the  Tudor  edition  of  the  Sonnets, 
1913. 

[201  1 


202  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

anyone  in  attaching  any  authority  to  the  first  edi- 
tion of  1609.  Thus  we  have  all  been  "put  to  ig- 
norance again"  with  reference  to  the  fundamental 
problems  of  the  Sonnets;  and,  that  being  the  case, 
it  may  be  worth  while  to  put  the  old,  familiar 
aspects  out  of  our  field  of  sight,  to  make  a  detour, 
and  approach  it  by  a  new  pathway.^ 

In  this  paper  no  attempt  will  be  made  to  sum  up 
the  history  of  the  development  of  the  criticism  of 
the  Sonnets,  nor  will  anything  be  said  regarding 
"Mr.  W.  H.,"  the  "dark  lady,"  or  the  "rival 
poet."  Neither  will  anything  be  said  regarding  the 
question  as  to  whether  there  is  a  definite  story  in  the 
Sonnets,  nor  as  to  whether  they  are  merely,  "liter- 
ary exercises"  or  not,  except  indirectly.  However, 
lest  silence  should  be  interpreted  as  acceptance  of 
the  destructive  criticism  of  Lee  and  Alden,  it  may 
be  said  that  the  skeptical  methods  of  these  critics 
would  work  havoc  with  Tennyson's  In  Memoriam 
and  Rossetti's  House  of  Life,  both  as  regards  con- 
tent and  authorship.  What  is  attempted  is  simply 
this:  to  examine  the  dramas  of  Shakespeare  for 
passages  which  give  evidence  of  the  sonnet  habit, 
by  the  method  and  structure  which  they  exhibit;  to 
tabulate  these;  to  consider  them  in  relation  to 
chronology,  subject-matter,  and  character;  and  on 
this  evidence  to  arrive  at  certain  conclusions  regard- 
ing the  problem  of  the  Sonnets  as  a  whole. 


^  For  a  summary  statement  of  the  present  status  of  these  questions,  see 
Henry  David  Gray,  "The  Arrangement  and  the  Date  of  Shakespeare's 
Sonnets,"  in  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Association,  Vol,  XXX, 
629-644. 


SONNETS    AND    PLAYS  203 

In  this  examination  the  sonnet  as  written  by 
Shakespeare  has  been  defined  as  essentially  a  lyric 
poem,  a  wave  of  lyric  feeling.  This  makes  it  closely 
akin  to  lyric  song;  and  it  was  not  at  all  unnatural 
that  the  Elizabethans  did  not  clearly  distinguish 
between  the  two  forms.  But,  while  the  sonnet  is 
lyric,  it  is  the  lyric  weighted  by  contemplative, 
reflective  thought.  If  it  deals  with  passion  or  emo- 
tion it  deals  with  emotion  or  passion  "recollected 
in  tranquillity,"  in  a  measure.  It  expresses  reflec- 
tions on  love,  friendship,  or  beauty,  rather  than 
love,  friendship,  and  beauty  themselves. 

Again,  the  sonnet  is  not  descriptive,  narrative, 
nor  representative  of  action.  Indeed,  it  is  not  unfair 
to  say  that  the  sonnet,  which  implies  brooding,  or 
intense,  thought  attempting  to  interpret  and  com- 
prehend the  obscurity  of  feeling  and  the  primary 
passions,  is  directly  contradictory  of  the  external 
world  of  character,  situation,  and  action. 

Further,  the  sonnet  is  a  thought  expressed,  not 
in  connection  with  what  may  precede  or  follow,  but 
as  a  thing  which  is  self-sufficient.  The  thought  is 
stated,  developed,  and  restated  by  means  of  a 
return  upon  itself  in  the  form  of  summary  or  ap- 
plication. 

This  habit  of  the  sonnet  to  round  out  and  com- 
plete the  thought  within  the  bounds  of  that  thought 
is  organically  expressed  in  the  technical  form  which 
Shakespeare  used.  The  Shakespearean  sonnet 
form  consists  of  three  quatrains  and  a  concluding 
couplet,  and  this  indicates  the  usual  method  by 
which  the  content  is  presented.     The  thought  is 


204  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

usually  given  in  three  stages,  and  is  completed 
by  the  summary  or  conclusion  in  the  final  couplet. 
In  sonnet  xxx,  for  example,  the  first  quatrain 
is  introduced  by  "when,"  the  second  by  "then," 
the  third  by  "then,"  and  the  couplet  by  "but," 
expressive  of  an  idea  epigrammatically  contra- 
dictory of  the  matter  of  the  quatrains.  Of  simi- 
lar structure  are  sonnets  xii,  xvi,  and  Ixiv,  except 
that  the  couplet  confirms  the  thought  of  the  qua- 
trains. Similarly,  sonnet  Ixxiii  shows  the  same 
structure  very  clearly;  the  quatrains  deal  respec- 
tively with  the  poet's  age  under  the  imagery  of 
autumn,  sunset,  and  the  dying  fire,  and  the  couplet 
adds  the  contrasting  thought  that  the  love  of  the 
friend  ought  to  be  all  the  stronger  for  that  which 
he  must  leave  ere  long.  Sonnet  Ixvii  consists  of 
three  questions,  with  the  answer  in  the  couplet. 
This  is  the  normal  type  of  Shakespearean  sonnet; 
and  may  be  designated  as  type  one. 

A  second  type  presents  the  thought  in  two  parts, 
the  turn  usually  coming  after  the  eighth  line.  Ex- 
amples are  xviii,  xxxiii,  Ixxiv,  civ,  and  cvi.  In  some 
cases  the  turn  of  thought  comes  in  the  fifth  line,  as 
in  Ixxi,  xcvii,  and  xcviii. 

A  third  type  is  looser  than  the  preceding  types, 
its  structure  being  a  series  of  statements  or  ques- 
tions.    Examples  are  Ixvi,  cxxx,  and  xli. 

In  the  parallel  passages  from  the  dramas  which 
are  listed  below,  the  general  lyric  attitude  and 
forms  of  thought-structure  are  rather  completely 
embodied.  The  passages  are  chosen  solely  for 
their  similarity  to  the  sonnet,  and  not  at  all  for 


GARRIGK'S  VAGARY 

By  Lily  B.  Campbell 


Since  the  eighteenth  century  there  has  existed  a 
tradition  to  the  effect  that  it  was  David  Garrick 
who  re-discovered  Shakespeare  to  the  stage  and 
who  established  him  forever  as  "the  Drama's 
God."  Certain  it  is  that  during  the  eighteenth 
century  Shakespeare  came  to  be  recognized  as  the 
solid  foundation  for  the  lasting  fame  of  the  English 
stage;  and  that  this  recognition  came  about  in  spite 
of  the  attacks  of  the  orthodox  among  the  critics,  in 
spite  of  the  defense  made  by  the  apologists,  in  spite 
of  the  reformation  introduced  in  his  plays  by  practi- 
cal-minded Aristotelians,  and  even  in  spite  of  the 
limitations  of  the  stage  art  of  the  time.  It  is,  there- 
fore, of  interest  to  trace  the  growth  of  this  persistent 
Garrick-Shakespeare  tradition  which  is  characteris- 
tically expressed  in  the  epitaph  engraved  on  Gar- 
rick's  tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey, 

Shakespeare  and  Garrick  like  twin  stars  shall  shine, 
And  earth  irradiate  with  a  beam  divine. 

Garrick  made  his  first  appearance  on  the  London 
stage  on  October  19,  1741,  in  Richard  III,  But  the 
revival  of  Shakespeare  was  even  then  begun. 
Rowe,  Pope,  and  Theobald  had  already  published 

[215] 


216  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

editions  of  Shakespeare's  works  during  the  century. 
A  subscription  under  the  patronage  of  Lord  Halifax 
had  in  Golley  Gibber's  time  been  raised  for  the 
presentation  of  Shakespeare's  plays. ^  And  in  1735 
or  thereabouts,  "a  number  of  ladies  of  the  first 
distinction  entered  into  a  subscription  for  exhibit- 
ing the  plays  of  Shakespeare  weekly,  in  order  to 
recover  the  drooping  spirit  of  the  Drama. "^  The 
Shakespeare  monument  in  Westminster  Abbey  was 
likewise  erected  by  public  subscription  in  1741, 
some  sort  of  benefit  for  the  purpose  having  appar- 
ently taken  place  in  London  in  1738,  at  which 
benefit  various  poetical  attempts  at  honoring 
Shakespeare  had  been  made.^  Furthermore  Quin 
as  Falstaff  and  Macklin  as  Shylock  were  already 
established  as  theatrical  favorites. 

Certainly  in  1741,  then,  the  winds  of  public  favor 
seemed  to  be  blowing  Shakespeare-ward.  And 
Garrick  at  the  outset  of  his  career  decided  to  throw 
in  his  fortunes  with  those  of  Shakespeare.  So  suc- 
cessful was  he  that  soon  he  seemed  to  be  the  creator 
rather  than  the  follower  of  the  popular  taste  for 
Shakespeare.  And  when  in  1747,  on  assuming  the 
managership  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  he  spoke  a 
prologue  written  for  the  occasion  by  Doctor  John- 
son and  affirming  the  indisputable  supremacy  of 
Shakespeare  while  it  retailed  the  sorrows  and  vices 

1  Gibber,  Golley,  An  Apology  for  the  life  of:  Written  by  himself.  1822  ed. 
pp.  311,  312. 

2  Davies,  T.,  Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  David  Garrick,  Esq.  1780.  Vol.  II, 
p.  219,  note.  Also  Vol.  I,  p.  20.  Also  Gooke,  W.,  Memoirs  of  Samuel  Foote, 
Esq.   1805.   p.  33. 

2  The  Private  Gorrespondence  of  David  Garrick.  Ed.  Boaden.  Vol.  I, 
p.  349. 


garrick's  vagary  217 

of  the  stage  since  it  had  followed  after  new  godsS 
he  seemed  to  be  indeed  the  herald  of  a  new  stage 
faith. 

From  this  time  Garrick  carried  a  public  cudgel 
in  Shakespeare's  behalf.  He  refused  to  have  aught 
to  do  with  one  who  spoke  ill  of  Shakespeare.  He 
and  his  intimate  friends  formed  themselves  into  a 
Shakespeare  Club,  the  business  of  which  was 
**drinking  toasts  to  the  immortal  remembrance  of 
the  great  dramatic  writer,  and  refreshing  their 
minds  with  the  recital  of  his  various  excellences," 
according  to  Garrick's  biographer,  Thomas  Davies.^ 

Constantly,  too,  Garrick  produced  Shake- 
spearean plays  on  the  Drury  Lane  stage,  played 
Shakespearean  parts,  and — reformed  Shakespeare's 
plays.  Davies  states  that  under  the  rule  of  Booth, 
Wilks,  and  Cibber  only  eight  or  nine  of  Shake- 
speare's plays  were  produced  on  the  London  stage, 
while  Garrick  produced  annually  seventeen  or 
eighteen. 2  Garrick  himself  had  acted  eighteen 
Shakespearean  characters  before  his  retirement 
from  the  stage. ^  And  that  his  efforts  to  popularize 
Shakespeare  were  untiring  is  evidenced  by  his  pro- 
ducing The  Tempest  and  A  Midsummer  NighVs 
Dream    as     operas,^     a  farce     of     Katherine    and 


1  Quoted  in  Davies,  I.e.,  Vol.  I,  p.  108-110. 

2  Davies,  I.e.,  Vol.  II,  p.  17. 

3  Davies,  I.e.,  Vol.  I,  p.  113. 

^  Gaehde,  Ch.,  David  Garrick  als  Shakespeare-Darsteller.  1904.  Oppo- 
site p.  198. 

^  Knight,  J.,  David  Garriek.  1894.  pp.  153,  154.  And  Murphy,  A., 
Life  of  David  Garriek,  Esq.   1801.  Vol.  I,  p.  269. 


218  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Petruchio,^  a  Hamlet  without  the  grave-diggers,^ 
a  happily  ending  Romeo  and  Juliet,^  and  similar 
sugared  offerings.  In  all  things  he  professed  his 
loyalty  to  Shakespeare,  a  loyalty  best  expressed  in 
his  own  words  in  a  prologue  of  1756  to  Florizel  and 
Perdita,  which  he  had  adapted  from  The  Winter's 
Tale  by  striking  out  most  of  the  first  three  acts  and 
centering  the  action  in  a  short  space  of  time: 

Tis  my  chief  wish,  my  joy,  my  only  plan. 
To  lose  no  drop  of  that  immortal  man.^ 

Thus  Garrick  and  Shakespeare  gradually  came 
to  be  identified  in  the  public  mind.  By  the  artists 
of  the  time  Garrick  was  painted  leaning  against  a 
pedestal  on  which  rested  the  bust  of  Shakespeare, 
reading  one  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  or  interpreting 
one  of  Shakespeare's  characters.  By  the  poets  his 
preferment  by  Shakespeare  was  sung  in  endless 
variation,  most  noteworthily,  however,  by 
Churchill  in  his  Rosciad  and  by  Goldsmith  in  his 
Retaliation. 

The  question  naturally  arises,  then,  why  Garrick 
did  not  in  some  fashion  celebrate  in  1764  the  anni- 
versary of  Shakespeare's  birth.  The  answer  is 
probably  found  in  Garrick's  absence  on  the  Conti- 
nent from  1763  till  1765,  an  absence  consequent 
to  a  decline  in  his  popularity  which  had  marked 
the  years  1762  and  1763.     In  1769,  however,  an 


1  Davies,  I.e.,  Vol.  I,  p.  275.    Also  Baker,  The  Companion  to  the  Play- 
house, 1764. 

2  Davies,  T.,  Dramatic  Miscellanies,  1784.    Vol.  Ill,  pp.  145-147.     Also 
Murphy,  I.e.,  pp.  82-84.    Also  Knight,  I.e.,  p.  259. 

'  Baker,  I.e.,  under  Garrick. 

*  Murphy,  I.e.,  Vol.  I,  p.  285.  Also  Knight,  I.e.,  pp.  150,151. 


garrick's  vagary  219 

opportunity  for  offering  fit  tribute  to  the  poet  pre- 
sented itself,  and  in  that  year  was  celebrated  the 
Stratford  Jubilee.  But  the  manner  of  the  origin 
of  the  Jubilee  was  curious. 

In  1752  or  1753, ^  New  Place  had  come  into  the 
possession  of  the  Reverend  Francis  Gastrell.  In 
the  garden  of  New  Place  grew  a  mulberry  tree, 
which  tradition  said  had  been  planted  by  Shake- 
speare's own  hand.  Some  time  about  1758,  the  new 
owner,  seeking  sunlight  for  his  house,  with  impious 
hands  cut  down  the  tree.  The  inhabitants  of  Strat- 
ford were  indignant  at  the  outrage.  The  Reverend 
Mr.  Gastrell  became  a  moral  outcast  in  the  com- 
munity and  finally  sought  refuge  elsewhere,  while 
the  villagers  vowed  that  nevermore  should  one  by 
the  name  of  Gastrell  be  allowed  to  live  within  the 
hallowed  precincts  of  the  borough.  One  thrifty 
burger,  however,  bought  up  the  tree  and  from  its 
wood  created  the  Shakespeare  remembrancers 
which,  like  those  of  other  sacred  shrines,  increased 
in  number  with  the  years.  The  borough  of  Strat- 
ford bought  several  pieces  of  the  wood,  and  Garrick 
himself  made  similar  purchase. ^ 

On  October  11,  1768,  in  recognition  of  his  services 
to  Shakespeare,  David  Garrick  was  elected  an 
honorary  burgess  of  the  Corporation  of  Stratford,' 

^  These  dates  are  taken  from  Lee,  Sidney,  A  Life  of  William  Shakespeare. 
1899.  p.  194,  note,  and  p.  283.  Here  they  are  accepted  on  the  authority 
of  Halliwell-Phillips,  History  of  New  Place,  1864.  An  interesting  account  is 
given  of  the  affair  in  the  Dramatic  Table  Talk,  1825-1830,  Vol.  Ill,  pp. 
288,  289,  where  the  dates  are  given  as  1753  and  1756.  Another  account  is 
found  in  the  Dramatic  Mirror,  1808,  pp.  113-116,  where  the  dates  are  not 
mentioned. 

2  Gar.  Cor.,  Vol.  I,  p.  145. 

3  "A  copy  of  the  Freedom  of  a  Burgess  given  to  David  Garrick"  in  the 
Gar.  Cor.,  Vol.  I,  p.  323. 


220  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

and  it  was  directed  that  the  freedom  of  the  city 
be  presented  to  him  in  a  box  made  from  the  wood 
of  the  famous  mulberry  tree.  The  actual  trans- 
mission of  this  document  seems  not  to  have  been 
made  until  May  3,  1769.^  And  Garrick's  accept- 
ance of  the  honor  is  dated  May  8.  Meanwhile 
he  had  been  requested  to  place  in  the  new  Town 
Hall  at  Stratford  some  "statue,  bust,  or  picture," 
of  Shakespeare  and  some  likeness  of  himself  in 
order  that  the  memory  of  both  actor  and  dramatist 
might  be  perpetuated  in  the  town  sacred  to  Shake- 
speare.^      This  invitation,  too,  Garrick  accepted. 

Such  new  honors  demanded  more  than  passive 
acceptance,  however,  and  Garrick  was  impelled 
to  the  creation  of  a  gigantic  Jubilee  which  should 
fitly  celebrate  the  poet.  Accordingly  he  included 
in  his  epilogue  at  the  last  night's  performance  at 
Drury  Lane  an  invitation  to  the  public  to  meet 
him  during  the  summer  at  Stratford  at  Shake- 
speare's Jubilee. 

The  news  of  the  proposed  celebration  spread, 
and  proffers  of  assistance  from  those  who  had 
made  their  poetical  or  histrionic  offerings  on 
Shakespeare's  shrine  came  to  Garrick  from  afar. 
An  actor  by  the  name  of  Ward  sent  him  a  pair 
of  gloves  which  were  attested  to  have  been  worn 
by  Shakespeare.^  He  was  honored  in  various 
ways  as  the  representative  of  Shakespeare.  And 
a  critic  for  whom  he  had  great  respect  wrote  to 

^  Gar.  Cor.,  Vol.  I.  p.  345. 

2  Gar.  Cor.,  Vol.  I,  p.  322. 

3  Gar.  Cor.,  Vol.  I,  pp.  352,  353. 


garrick's  vagary  221 

him  suggesting  the  erection  at  Stratford  of  a 
great  temple  to  Fame,  and  suggesting  further 
that  *'an  awful  majesty  should  grace  the  building, 
and  therein  should  be  seen  the  statues  of  Shake- 
speare and  Garrick,  Fame  spreading  her  wide 
wings  over  their  heads  with  a  majestic  laurel 
crown  in  her  hand,  uncertain  to  which  of  them 
both  it  might  be  just  to  bestow  it."^ 

During  the  summer  Garrick  completed  in  detail 
the  plans  for  the  Jubilee.  An  enthusiastic  land- 
owner of  Stratford  had  more  than  a  hundred  old 
trees  cut  down  to  admit  the  erection  of  a  building 
planned  by  Garrick  much  in  the  fashion  suggested 
by  the  critic,  but  unselfishly  named  Shakespeare 
Hall.  The  properties  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre 
were  ordered  sent  down  to  Stratford  for  the 
celebration,  as  were  also  the  lights  of  the  theatre. 

In  August  Garrick  himself  went  down  to  make 
the  final  arrangements.  He  found  the  lumber  for 
Shakespeare  Hall  not  yet  arrived,  the  Drury 
Lane  lights  broken.  Yet  in  three  weeks'  time 
the  arrangements  were  complete  for  the  arrival 
of  the  Stratford  pilgrims.  Shakespeare  Hall,  a 
great  rotunda  supported  by  a  colonnade  of  the 
Corinthian  order,  had  been  erected.  A  bookseller 
had  been  appointed.  One  Putney's  Inn  had  been 
chosen  as  headquarters,  and  an  attempt  had  been 
made  to  insure  reasonable  rates  for  satisfactory 
accommodations. 

These  proceedings  did  not  meet  with  the  uni- 
versal sympathy  of  the  inhabitants  of  Stratford, 

1  Gar.  Cor.,  Vol.  I,  p.  360. 


222  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

however.  The  more  aristocratic  among  them, 
including  the  mayor  and  aldermen,  were  ready 
for  eager  participation  in  the  events  of  the  Jubilee. 
Those  who  had  accommodations  to  offer  pre- 
pared to  extort  a  guinea  a  night  for  a  bed,  however 
humble  its  pretensions  to  comfort.  The  more 
lowly  villagers  were  in  general  merely  curious, 
for  the  word  Jubilee  was  the  cause  of  much  specu- 
lation among  them.  The  Gentleman's  Magazine 
of  the  month  records  a  story  expressive  of  the 
general  bewilderment  of  the  natives:  '*A  Banbury 
man,  indeed,  employed  to  carry  thither  a  double 
bass  viol,  (on  which  he  was  unable  to  play,  but 
doubted  not  they  would  shew  him  when  he  got 
there)  told  them  it  was  to  be  a  celebration  of 
Shakespeare's  resurrection."  Probably  to  Garrick 
as  well  as  to  the  natives  this  explanation  would 
have  seemed  possible  of  jjustification. 

Eager  or  suspicious  as  they  might  be,  the  in- 
habitants of  Stratford  were,  nevertheless,  bound 
to  witness  the  Shakespeare  Jubilee.^  And  on 
September  5,  the  throng  of  pilgrims  arrived, 
among  them  Boswell,  the  biographer  of  Johnson, 
wearing  his  Gorsican  costume,  and  Foote,  the 
actor.  Each  of  the  visitors  was  presented  with  a 
ribbon  stamped  in  rainbow  hues  in  token  of 
Shakespeare  as  Doctor  Johnson  had  described  him 
in  the  famous  prologue  of  1747,  ''Each  change  of 
many-colored  light  he  drew." 

^  This  account  of  the  Jubilee  is  based  on  the  accounts  given  in  the  Gen- 
tleman's Magazine,  the  Universal  Magazine,  and  the  London  Alagazine 
for  September,  1769.  The  accounts  previously  referred  to  in  the  Dramatic 
Mirror  and  Dramatic  Table  Talk  have  also  been  consulted,  together  with 
the  account  of  Knight,  also  based  upon  these  records. 


garrick's  vagary  223 

On  the  morning  of  Wednesday,  September  6, 
the  Jubilee  opened  at  six  o'clock  with  the  '^triple 
discharge  of  seventeen  pieces  of  cannon  and  twelve 
small  mortars  placed  on  the  banks  of  the  Avon." 
Garrick's  and  Lord  Spencer's  apartments  were 
then  serenaded  by  some  of  the  Drury  Lane  actors 
who  had  got  themselves  up  to  look  like  rustics — 
not  forgetting  the  realism  of  dirt.  Afterward 
these  actors  went  through  the  streets  chanting 
ballads  and  accompanying  them  with  ''guitars 
and  German  flutes." 

The  town  was  in  gala  attire.  The  windows  of 
the  Town  Hall  were  covered  with  transparent 
silk  on  which  were  paintings  representing  the 
great  Shakespearean  characters.  Shakespeare's 
birthplace  attracted  attention  by  being  hidden 
under  a  great  transparency  of  similar  sort  which 
represented  the  sun  struggling  through  the  clouds 
to  illumine  the  world.  The  church  had  escaped 
like  treatment,  but  the  bust  of  Shakespeare  in  the 
church  was  so  loaded  with  bays  that  it  resembled 
a  statue  of  Pan  peeping  through  the  trees,  accord- 
ing to  one  commentator. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  this  eventful  day  Garrick 
went  forth  amid  these  glories  of  his  own  creation. 
He  hastened  to  the  Town  Hall,  where  a  public 
breakfast  was  to  be  served.  But  at  the  Town  Hall 
he  was  met  by  the  mayor  and  aldermen  of  Strat- 
ford, who  presented  to  him  with  many  speeches  a 
medallion  made  from  the  wood  of  the  sacred  mul- 
berry tree,  engraved  with  the  likeness  of  Shake- 
speare, and  set  richly  in  gold.     This  tribute  Garrick 


224  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

accepted  with  an  appropriate  speech.  Indeed  his 
correspondence  seems  to  prove  that  the  medal  had 
been  made  according  to  his  own  directions  and  was, 
therefore,  not  altogether  an  unexpected  gift.^ 
Seemingly  he  went  through  the  events  of  the  Jubi- 
lee days  with  the  mulberry-tree  medallion  about  his 
neck,  with  a  mulberry-tree  wand  in  his  hand,  and 
with  his  hands  encased  in  the  Shakespeare  gloves 
of  doubtful  authenticity. 

At  nine  o'clock  breakfast  was  served  here  in  the 
new  Town  Hall,  the  windows  hung  with  transpar- 
encies, one  end  of  the  room  decorated  with  a  pic- 
ture of  Shakespeare,  the  other  with  Gainsborough's 
picture  of  Garrick.^  At  eleven  all  repaired  to  the 
church,  where  the  oratorio  of  Judith  was  given — 
just  why  Judith  no  one  seems  to  know.^  At  three 
there  was  dinner  in  Shakespeare  Hall,  and  after- 
wards there  were  toasts  to  Garrick  and  Shake- 
speare. Then  the  orchestra  took  up  catches  and 
glees,  while  the  whole  company  joined  in  the 
choruses.  And  last  there  came  a  loyal,  enthusiastic 
singing  of  God  save  the  King.    From  nine  till  three 


*  A  letter  from  T.  Davies,  July  30,  1769,  to  Garrick  preserved  in  the 
Gar.  Cor.,  Vol.  I,  p.  350,  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the  medal  was  at  that 
time  being  made  in  Birmingham  according  to  Garrick's  own  directions. 

2  Gower,  Lord  Ronald  Sutherland,  F.  R.  A.,  Thomas  Gainsborough, 
1903,  pp.  46,  47,  gives  an  account  of  this  portrait  of  Garrick  which  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  painted  in  1765  or  1766  and  which  according  to  tradi- 
tion was  presented  by  Garrick  to  the  Town  Hall  at  Stratford.  "However 
there  exists  a  bill  in  the  Stratford  Municipal  Archives  kept  at  the  Town 
Hall,  stating  that  £63  had  been  paid  to  Mr.  Gainsborough  for  Mr.  Gar- 
rick's picture.  It  is  thought  possible  that  this  sum  was  paid  for  the  mag- 
nificently carved  gilt  frame  of  the  picture,  which  certainly  is  sufficiently 
elaborate  to  have  cost  that  amount." 

'  It  would  certainly  have  been  in  character  for  Garrick  to  have  chosen 
the  oratorio  because  of  the  fact  that  Shakespeare's  younger  daughter  bore 
the  name  Judith. 


garrick's  vagary  225 

a  wonderful  ball  took  place,  a  ball  which  lived  in 
the  memory  of  the  participants  because  of  the 
marvelous  minuet  in  which  Mrs.  Garrick  danced, 
for  Mrs.  Garrick  had  before  her  marriage  been  the 
famous  dancer  of  her  day,  Mile.  Violette.  And 
thus  the  first  day  of  the  Jubilee  came  to  its  brilliant 
close. 

On  Thursday  morning  the  elements  came  to  the 
support  of  the  murmurers  against  this  sacrilegious 
Jubilee,  for  a  drenching  rain  seemed  to  express  the 
wrath  of  heaven.  In  spite  of  the  rain  the  pilgrims 
went  to  breakfast  in  the  Town  Hall,  however,  and 
though  the  great  procession  had  to  be  abandoned, 
they  gathered  at  noon  in  the  church  to  hear  Gar- 
rick's ode  to  Shakespeare.  The  ode  had  been  set 
to  music  by  Dr.  Arne  and  was  sung  in  airs,  choruses, 
and  duets,  the  parts  usually  indicated  as  to  be 
pronounced  in  recitative  being  spoken  instead  by 
Garrick.  Those  who  heard  the  ode  pronounced  it 
excellent,  but  those  who  read  it  later  seem  to 
have  qualified  their  praise  with  reserve  and  their 
condemnation  with  politeness.  The  first  stanza 
gives  probably  a  just  idea  of  the  ode. 

To  what  blest  genius  of  the  isle, 

Shall  gratitude  her  tribute  pay. 

Decree  the  festive  day, 
Erect  the  statue,  and  devote  the  pile? 

Do  not  your  sympathetic  hearts  accord. 

To  own  the  'bosom's  Lord'? 
'Tis  he!     'Tis  he! — that  demi-god! 
Who  Avon's  flow'ry  margin  trod; 

While  sportive  fancy  round  him  flew, 
Where  nature  led  him  by  the  hand, 

S— 15. 


226  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Instructed  him  in  all  she  knew, 
And  gave  him  absolute  command! 
'Tis  he!— 'tis  he! 
'The  god  of  our  idolatry' 

After  the  performance  of  the  ode  there  was  din- 
ner, and  dinner  was  followed  again  by  songs,  The 
Warwickshire  Lad  being  the  most  persistent  of 
these  songs.  After  dinner  there  were  to  be  fire- 
works, and  fireworks  there  were — but  damp  fire- 
works. For  the  rain  persisted.  At  twelve  there 
was  a  grand  masquerade. 

Friday  morning  the  last  and  greatest  day  of  the 
Jubilee  was  ushered  in  by  more  rain.  The  great 
pageant  of  Shakespeare's  characters  had  to  be 
abandoned.  A  horse  race  was  run  according  to 
schedule,  but  it  was  run  with  the  horses  knee-deep 
in  water.  And  the  evening  found  escaping  all 
those  who  could  escape  from  the  prices  and  hard- 
ships of  Stratford  hospitality. 

Thus  in  rain  and  discomfort  the  Jubilee  ended. 
Nevertheless  it  furnished  the  favorite  topic  of  the 
time.  Accounts  of  it  filled  the  current  magazines. 
Accounts  of  plays,  farces,  and  collections  of  songs 
under  the  titles  of  Shakespeare's  Jubilee,  The  Strat- 
ford Jubilee,  Shakespeare's  Garland,  Garrick's 
Vagary,  and  similar  captions,  occupied  much  of 
the  space  given  to  book  notices  in  these  same 
magazines.  The  Ode  was  published^  and  distributed 
among  Garrick's  friends,  and  comment  on  it  was 
frequent  and  diverse. 

^  An  Ode  upon  Dedicating  a  Building,  and  Erecting  a  Statue  to  Shake- 
speare, at  Stratford  upon  Avon.  By  David  Garrick.  London.  1769.  To 
this  Ode  are  subjoined  "Testimonies  to  the  Genius  and  Merits  of  Shake- 
speare." 


garrick's  vagary  227 

But  however  much  Garrick  might  desire  to  pay 
honor  to  Shakespeare,  he  was  never  oblivious  to 
the  demands  of  his  own  purse,  and  he  had  spent 
a  great  deal  of  money  on  his  vagary,  the  Jubilee. 
It  was  a  day  of  pageants  and  processions  in  the 
theatre;  therefore  he  determined  to  make  use  at 
Drury  Lane  of  the  frustrated  pageant  of  the  Jubilee. 
The  manager  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  not  to 
be  outdone,  announced  for  October  1,  Colman's 
comedy,  Man  and  WUe:  or  the  Shakespeare  Jubi- 
lee, in  the  course  of  which  a  pageant  was  to  be 
introduced.  Garrick's  pageant  was  not  ready, 
but  not  to  be  out-witted  by  his  rival,  he  announced, 
as  the  afterpiece  for  September  30,  the  famous 
Ode.^  And  on  October  14,  the  great  pageant  was 
at  last  presented,  some  lines  in  low-comedy  style 
having  been  inserted  to  popularize  the  piece  and 
to  explain  the  action.  The  pageant  was  a  pro- 
found success;  it  ran  for  ninety-two  nights  and 
made  more  evident  than  ever  the  profitable  nature 
of  Shakespeare  idolatry. ^ 

Foote  of  the  Covent  Garden  Theatre  raged  at 
the  adulation  bestowed  on  his  rival,  and  when 
he  heard  of  the  final  atrocity  of  pecuniary  gain, 
he  planned  revenge.  He  planned  it,  too,  in  char- 
acteristic eighteenth  century  fashion.  He  would 
introduce  a  mock  procession  at  Covent  Garden, 
with  a  man  dressed  to  represent  Garrick  as  Stew- 
ard of  the  Jubilee — wand,  medallion,  gloves  not 


1  Victor,  B.,  The  History  of  the  Theatres  of  London,  from  the  year  1760 
to  the  Present  Time.    1771.   Vol.  Ill,  p.  154. 

2  Victor,  I.e.,  Vol.  II,  p.  156. 


228  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

forgotten.  This  noble  creature  was  to  be  addressed 
by  some  ragamuffin  of  the  procession  in  the  famous 
words  of  the  poet   laureate, 

A  nation's  taste  depends  on  you. 
Perhaps  a  nation's  virtue  too. 

And  the  Steward  should  make  reply,  clapping 
his  arms  like  the  wings  of  a  cock. 

Cock-a-doodle-doo ! 

Garrick  heard  of  the  plan  and  feared  it,  for  he 
always  feared  ridicule.  But  the  Marquis  of  Staf- 
ford intervened  and  prevented  this  final  break 
of  friendship  between  the  rival  actors.^  Foote, 
nevertheless,  introduced  into  his  comedy  of  The 
Devil  upon  Two  Sticks  the  now  celebrated  descrip- 
tion of  the  Jubilee: 

A  Jubilee  is  a  public  invitation,  circulated  by  puffing,  to  go 
post  without  horses,  to  a  Borough  without  representatives, 
governed  by  a  Mayor  and  Aldermen,  who  are  no  magistrates, 
to  celebrate  a  Poet,  whose  own  works  have  made  him  immortal, 
by  an  ode  without  poetry,  music  without  melody,  dinners  with- 
out victuals,  and  lodgings  without  beds;  a  masquerade  where 
half  the  people  are  bare-faced,  a  horse  race  up  to  the  knees 
in  water,  fireworks  extinguished  as  soon  as  they  were  lighted, 
and  a  gingerbread  amphitheater,  which,  like  a  house  of  cards, 
tumbled  to  pieces  as  soon  as  it  was  finished. 

Through  it  all — adulation  and  ridicule — Garrick 
became  more  and  more  inseparable  from  Shake- 
speare in  the  public  mind.  He  seemed  the  natural 
recipient  of  all  sorts  of  Shakespeariana.  Various 
admirers  made  further  contributions  from  the  wood 
of  the  mulberry  tree.     The  most  remarkable  of 

1  Cooke,  W.,  Memoirs  of  Samuel  Foote,  1805.     Vol.  I,  p.  164. 


A    DUTCH    RICHARD    III  229 

curios  ofTered,  however,  was  a  '*spoted  coach- 
dog,"  *'spoted  like  a  leper,"  said  to  have  been 
in  Shakespeare's  family  and  tendered  by  one  H. 
Cooper.^ 

The  Jubilee  itself  was  perennially  popular.  It 
was  revived  in  1775,  again  in  1777,  and  again  in 
1785. 

In  1776  Garrick  retired  from  the  stage.  In 
1779  he  died  and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey 
just  at  the  foot  of  the  Shakespeare  monument. 
And  the  words  of  Goldsmith's  Retaliation  were 
often  said  as  a  pax  vobiscum. 

Old  Shakespeare  receive  him  with  praise  and  with  love. 

But  even  after  Garrick's  death  Drury  Lane  con- 
tinued the  Shakespeare  tradition  begun  by  him 
there,  and  when  the  new  Drury  Lane  was  opened 
in  1794,  the  occasion  was  reminiscent  of  the  Jubi- 
lee.    The  epilogue  closed  with  the  words. 

The  high  decree  is  passed — may  future  age, 
When  pond'ring  o'er  the  annals  of  the  stage, 
Rest  on  this  time,  when  labour  rear'd  this  pile 
In  tribute  to  the  genius  of  our  Isle. 
This  School  of  Art,  with  British  sanction  grac'd. 
And  worthy  of  a  manly  Nation's  taste! 
And  now  the  image  of  our  Shakespeare  view. 
And  give  the  Drama's  God  the  honor  due! 

As  the  last  lines  were  spoken,  the  new  iron  curtain 
rose  to  reveal  a  beautiful  scene,  wherein  was  dis- 
covered by  an  ecstatic  audience  the  statue  of 
Shakespeare  under  his  mulberry  tree.^ 

1  Gar.  Cor.,  Vol.  I,  p.  424. 

2  Young,  W.  J.,  Memoirs  of  Mrs.  Grouch.   1806.  Vol.  II,  pp.  204-211. 


230  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Thus  through  the  persistent  devotion  of  a  life- 
time and  through  the  dramatic  expression  of  that 
devotion  in  the  Jubilee,  Garrick  united  his  name 
and  fame  with  Shakespeare's.  And  the  moral 
of  the  tale  is  simply  told:  that  he  who  honors 
Shakespeare  honors  not  Shakespeare  but  himself, 
in  witness  whereof  there  stands  the  record  of 
Shakespeare  and  Garrick — and  the  mulberry  tree. 


A   DUTCH   ANALOGUE   OF  RICHARD   THE 

THIRD 

0.  J.  Campbell,  Jr. 


In  1651  there  was  published  in  Amsterdam  a 
play  called  De  Roode  en  Witte  Roos^  written 
by  Lambert  van  den  Bosch. ^  It  was  a  tragedy 
of  five  acts  written  in  rhymed  hexameters  contain- 
ing 1856  lines  and  treating  the  popular  story  of 
King  Richard  III  of  England.^  Although  the 
author  does  not  suggest  in  any  way  that  the  work 
is  not  completely  original,  it  must  ultimately  have 
had  an  English  source.  That  it  was  founded  on 
Shakespeare's  play  seems  practically  impossible. 
The  two  dramas  are  quite  unlike  in  general  con- 
struction and  no  line  in  the  Dutch  play  is  a  trans- 
lation of  a  single  line  in  Shakespeare's  tragedy. 

^  Roode  en  Witte  Roos  of  Lankaster  en  Jork  /Bleijeindent  Treurspel. 
Qui  terret  plus  ipse  timet,  sors  ista  Tyrannis  Convenit  /t'  Amsterdam, 
Gedrukt  by  Tymon  Houthaak /voor  Dirk  Cornelisz'  Houthaak  Boekver- 
kooper  op  de  hock /van  de  Nienwezijds  Kolk /MDCLI, 

2  Spelt  also  Bos. 

2  This  play  in  its  relation  to  English  drama  was  first  discussed  by  Dr.  H. 
de  W.  Fuller,  editor  of  The  Nation,  in  a  paper  read  before  the  Modern  Lan- 
guage Association  in  1904,  Since  that  time  other  engrossing  interests  have 
prevented  him  from  pursuing  the  lines  of  investigation  which  the  discovery 
of  this  play  disclosed.  The  material,  however,  seemed  important  enough  to 
warrant  its  being  made  accessible.  The  present  paper  is  by  way  of  an  in- 
troduction to  an  annotated  edition  of  the  Dutch  play  which  the  writer  pur- 
poses to  publish  in  the  near  future.  Only  those  who  heard  Dr.  Fuller's 
paper  will  appreciate  how  fundamental  is  the  indebtedness  of  the  present 
essay  to  his  original  and  brilliant  investigation. 

[231] 


232  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

In  a  similar  fashion  it  can  be  shown  not  to  be  based 
directly  on  any  other  extant  English  play  on  the 
subject.  There  are  certain  bits  of  evidence,  how- 
ever, which  suggest  that  the  Dutch  play  was 
based  not  on  any  of  the  Chronicles,  but  upon  an 
English  drama  now  lost  which  held  an  important 
place  in  the  development  of  the  Richard  saga 
before  the  composition  of  Shakespeare's  play. 

Lambert  van  den  Bosch  (1610-1698)  owes  his 
position  in  Dutch  literature  to  his  skillful  transla- 
tion and  adaptation  of  foreign  works  of  literature. 
His  translation  of  Don  Quixote,  for  example,  re- 
mained the  classical  Dutch  version  of  the  romance 
for  two  centuries.  His  numerous  translations  from 
the  English,  our  particular  concern  for  the  moment, 
show  his  perfect  understanding  of  the  language  and 
his  interest  in  the  literature.  In  1648  he  rendered 
into  Dutch  a  curious  masque-like  morality  called 
Lingua,  or  The  Combat  of  the  Tongue,  and  Five  Senses 
for  Superiority,  published  in  London  in  1607;  in 
1658  Sir  Thomas  Herbert's  Travels  into  Divers 
Parts  of  Africa  and  Asia  Minor;  in  1661  John 
Dauncey's  History  of  his  Sacred  Majesty  Charles  II, 
and  in  1678  the  anonymous  treatise  The  True  and 
Historical  Relation  of  the  Poisoning  of  Sir  Thomas 
Overbury. 

We  know,  moreover,  that  he  had  manuscripts 
of  other  English  works  in  his  possession — comedies 
he  calls  them — the  translation  of  which  he  had 
considered.  In  the  introduction  to  his  Dutch 
version  of  "Lingua"  he  addresses  the  Regent  of 
the  theatre  as  follows: 


A    DUTCH    RICHARD    III  233 


Gracious  Friend 


Considerable  time  has  elapsed  since  you  gave  me  some 
English  comedies,  requesting  that  I  look  them  over  to  see 
whether  there  was  any  worth  translating.  Accepting  this 
proposal,  I  have  chosen  the  morality  Lingua,  and  have,  as  you 
requested,  translated  it  into  Dutch.  I  have  not  followed  the 
words  so  much  as  the  sense,  and  have  here  and  there  omitted 
things  which,  to  be  sure,  would  have  made  the  play  somewhat 
longer  but  certainly  not  more  attractive. 

From  this  address  we  are  able  to  glean  the  highly 
interesting  information  that  Van  den  Bosch  was 
supplied  by  the  director  of  the  theatre  with  a  num- 
ber of  cast-ofT  English  plays.  Whether  or  not  this 
collection  of  plays  had  been  carried  into  Holland 
by  a  troupe  of  English  actors  or  purchased  in 
London  by  a  Dutch  bookseller  or  actor  is  for  the 
moment  of  little  importance.  The  point  of  im- 
mediate significance  is  that  among  these  plays 
there  might  easily  have  been  the  drama  upon  which 
Van  den  Bosch  based  his  Roode  en  Witte  Roos, — 
a  play  which  appeared  only  three  years  later.  At 
least,  it  was  a  product  of  the  same  period  of  his 
literary  activity  as  his  translation  of  Lingua. 

The  direct  relation  of  this  Dutch  tragedy  to  a 
lost  English  play  is  purely  conjectural,  yet  there 
is  no  little  internal  evidence  to  suggest  that  the 
Dutch  play,  as  it  stands,  bears  a  definite  relation 
to  the  English  dramatic  tradition  of  Richard  III. 
Indeed,  it  seems  to  form  a  real  link  in  the  complete 
chain  which  Shakespeare  forged  in  his  Richard  the 
Third.  At  any  rate  De  Roode  en  Witte  Roos  in 
both  language  and  construction  of  scene  resembles 
in  turn   Thomas   Legge's  Richardus    Tertius,    The 


234  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

True  Tragedie  of  Richard  the  Third,  and  Shakes- 
peare's Richard  the  Third,  and  in  points  in  which 
each  of  these  plays  differs  from  the  chronicles  and 
from  the  other  two  plays.  Obviously  such  re- 
semblances, if  they  prove  too  elaborate  to  be  for- 
tuitous, can  be  explained  in  only  one  of  two  ways. 
If  Van  den  Bosch  had  been  able  to  use  all  three  of 
these  plays  as  sources  in  addition  to  the  chronicles, 
his  production  could  have  shown  the  three  sorts  of 
resemblances  noted  above.  Such  a  situation  is  in- 
herently very  improbable,  and  becomes  practically 
impossible  when  we  remember  the  character  of 
Richardus  Tertius.  It  was  an  academic  play  prob- 
ably never  acted  outside  of  Cambridge  and  never 
printed  as  far  as  we  know  until  the  nineteenth 
century.  That  this  unprinted  school  play  could 
have  travelled  by  any  method  as  far  as  Amster- 
dam seems  on  the  face  of  it  well-nigh  impossible; 
that  it  should  have  travelled  in  company  with 
two  other  plays  on  the  same  subject  is  completely 
impossible.  We  must  dismiss,  at  once,  then,  the 
hypothesis  that  the  Dutch  play  had  this  conven- 
iently multiple  source.  The  only  other  explana- 
tion of  the  diverse  resemblances  is  that  the  Dutch 
play  is  a  very  definite  part  of  the  English  dramatic 
tradition  which  culminated  in  Shakespeare. 

Although  for  a  complete  establishment  of  this 
hypothesis,  resemblances  between  this  Dutch  play 
and  all  the  extant  Richard  the  Third  plays  written 
in  England  ought  to  be  examined,  in  this  article 
I  shall  confine  myself  to  the  correspondences  found 


A    DUTCH    RICHARD    III  235 

exclusively  between  De  Roode  en   Witte  Roos  and 
Shakespeare's  play. 

One  of  the  most  striking  of  these  correspond- 
ences is  the  scene  in  which  Richard  sues  Queen 
Elizabeth  for  the  hand  of  her  daughter  (Shake- 
speare IV,  xi,  lines  210-454.  De  Roode  en  Witte 
Roos  IV,  vi,  1-126).  The  Chronicles  furnish  only 
a  bare  hint  for  the  similar  dramatic  situation  in 
both  plays.  Hall  has  the  following,  which  is  based 
directly  on  the  Hardynge  continuation. 

The  King  thus^  (accordyng  to  his  long  desire)  losed  out  of  the 
bondes  of  matrimony,  beganne  to  cast  a  foolyshe  phantasie  to 
Lady  EUzabeth  his  nece,  making  much  suite  to  have  her  ioyned 
with  him  in  lawfull  matrimony.  But  because  all  men,  and  the 
mayden  her  selfe  moost  of  all,  detested  and  abhorred  this  un- 
lawfuU  and  in  maner  unnaturall  copulacion,  he  determined  to 
prolonge  and  deferre  the  matter  till  he  were  in  a  more  quiet- 
nes.2 

The  words  ''making  much  suite"  are  the  vague 
suggestion  from  which  the  various  authors  have  had 
to  develop  dramatic  scenes  of  the  king's  wooing  of 
his  niece.  In  Legge's  Richardus  Tertius  there  is  a 
scene  of  wooing  between  the  king  and  his  niece. ^ 
It  is  distinctly  Senecan  in  character  and,  as  Prof. 
G.  B.  Churchill  has  suggestedS  is  doubtless  reminis- 
cent of  the  scene  in  Hercules  Furens  in  which  the 
tyrant  Lycus  wooes  Megara  only  to  be  rejected 
with  the  utmost  scorn.  Richard  frankly  admits 
his  wickednesses  to  the  Filia,  but  she  is  none  the 


^  By  the  suspiciously  convenient  death  of  his  wife  Anne. 
'  Variorum  Richard  the  Third,  p.  493. 

3  Richardus  Tertius,  Tertia  Actio,  Actus  Quartus.   Hazlitt's  Shakespeare's 
Library,  Part  III,  Vol.  1,  p.  210-211. 

*  Richard  the  Third  up  to  Shakespeare,  p.  349. 


236  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

less  shocked  by  them  and  the  new  crime  he  is 
urging  her  to  commit  in  marrying  him.  She  repels 
him  violently: 

Sit  amor,  sit  odium,  sit  ira,  vel  sit  fides: 
Non  euro:     plaeet  odisse,  quiequid  eogitas. 
Tuus  prius  penetrabit  ensis  peetora. 
Libido  quam  cognata  eorpus  polluat. 

When  he  attempts  to  force  her  by  threats  to  ac- 
cept his  offer,  she  replies: 

Nil  minaris  amplius? 
Mallem  mori  virgo,  tyranno  quam  viro 
Incesta  vivere,  deis,  hominibusque  invida; 

and  a  moment  later  she  breaks  out  again: 

Neronis  umbrae,  atque  furiae  Cleopatrae 
Truces  resurgite,  similem  fmem  date 
His  nuptiis,  qualem  tulit  Oedipodae  domus. 
Nee  suffecit  fratres  necasses  tuos  principes? 
Et  nobili  foedare  caede  dexteram? 
Quin  et  integra  stuprare  quaeras  virgine 
Maritus?  0  mores,  nefanda  tempora. 

In  this  excited  state  of  anger  and  horror  she 
flees  the  king.  To  Legge  the  greatest  interest  in 
this  scene  lay  in  the  Filia's  rhetorical  assertions 
of  her  passionate  devotion  to  purity. 

Shakespeare  has  introduced  no  such  encounter 
between  Richard  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth. 
Such  a  direct  check  as  hers  at  this  point  in  Rich- 
ard's career  would  have  been  incompatible  with 
the  principle  of  his  dramatic  construction.  The 
tyrant's  triumphs  were  to  continue  unchecked  until 
Nemesis  through  the  instrumentality  of  Richmond 
overtook  him.    Shakespeare,  therefore,  substitutes 


A    DUTCH    RICHARD    III  237 

a  trenchant  dialogue  between  Richard  and  the 
Queen  in  which  he  gradually  wins  from  her  some- 
thing near  consent  to  his  wooing  of  the  Princess. 
The  king's  method  is  very  like  that  which  he 
adopted  in  his  wooing  of  Anne.  He  adroitly  kindles 
her  anger  in  the  hope  that  it  will  burn  itself  out  in  a 
series  of  flashes.  He  begins  by  merely  mentioning 
the  Princess: 

You  have  a  daughter  call'd  Elisabeth 
Vertuous  and  Faire,  Royall  and  Gracious 

To  this  the  queen  replies  with  a  burst  of  irony 
and  anger  not  all  unexpected: 

And  must  she  dye  for  this?  0  let  her  live 

And  I'll  corrupt  her  manners,  staine  her  beauty,  etc. 

At  first  the  queen  bitterly  attacks  Richard  for 
his  crimes  against  her  family,  without  provoking 
him,  however,  to  any  sort  of  defence.  He  treats 
all  her  personal  anger  with  studied  irrelevance, 
adroitly  transforming  an  apparently  frank  ad- 
mission of  guilt  into  skillfully  reiterated  pleading. 
For  example,  when  she  violently  reproaches  him 
with  his  foulest  deeds,  he  suggests 

Say  that  I  did  all  this  for  love  of  her. 

After  wooing  of  this  sort,  half-ironical  in  method 
but  wholly  serious  in  intention,  he  breaks  into 
speeches  of  sustained  ardour  which  seem  to  have 
won  the  queen.  Richard,  at  least,  is  convinced 
that  she  has  consented  to  be  the  attorney  of  his 
love  to  her  daughter. 


238  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

In  De  Roode  en  Witte  Roos  Richard  opens  the 
corresponding  scene  with  an  attempt  to  com- 
fort the  grieving  queen  which  seems  to  her  pure 
hypocrisy:  '*You  are  no  stranger  to  the  cause  of 
my  grief,"  she  exclaims  in  a  sentence  which  in  this 
play  is  the  sole  equivalent  of  the  series  of  re- 
proaches uttered  by  Shakespeare's  queen.  Then, 
as  in  Richard  the  Third,  the  king  admits  the 
grievous  wrong  he  has  done  her,  but  suggests  that 
he  did  it  reluctantly,  at  the  behest  of  the  com- 
mons. At  this  moment  he  is  eager  to  make 
amends: 

Here  now  I  stand,  nay  I  kneel  at  thy  feet,  ready  in  every  way 
to  assuage  thy  grief.  My  true  love  shall  make  recompense  for 
all  my  guilt.  Dry  thy  tears,  my  Lady,  have  more  patience. 
Instead  of  sister — a  name  which  I  today  will  forget — henceforth 
thou  shalt  be  called  my  mother.  What  if  the  people  have 
transferred  the  crown  from  thee  to  me!  I  shall  again  confer 
it  with  all  honor  upon  thy  heritors — if  thou  wilt  but  consent 
to  my  desire.  Give  me  now  thy  daughter  Elizabeth  in  mar- 
riage. ^ 

These  lines  certainly  recall  the  following  lines 
from  Shakespeare: 

Looke  what  is  done,  cannot  be  now  amended: 
Men  shall  deale  unadvisedly  sometimes, 
Which  after  houres  give  leysure  to  repent. 
If  I  did  take  the  Kingdom  from  your  Sonnes, 
To  make  amends.  He  give  it  to  your  daughter. 
If  I  have  killed  the  issue  of  your  wombe, 
To  quicken  your  encrease,  I  will  beget 
Mine  yssue  of  your  blood  upon  your  Daughter. 
A  grandam's  name  is  little  lesse  in  love, 
Then  is  the  doting  title  of  a  mother  ;2 


1  De  Roode  en  Witte  Roos,  IV,  vi,  29-36. 

2  Richard  the  Third,  IV,  iv,  308-317. 


A    DUTCH    RICHARD    III  239 

Go  then  (my  mother)  to  thy  daughter  go.^ 
Therefore  deare  mother  (I  must  call  you  so)^ 

The  intellectual  content  of  these  two  passages 
is  practically  the  same.  (1).  In  both  plays  Richard 
insinuates  with  an  hypocrisy  donned  for  a  definite 
purpose  that  he  repents  of  his  crimes.  (2).  In  both 
passages  he  offers  to  make  amends  for  his  theft  of 
the  crown.  From  the  Queen's  family  he  has  stolen 
it;  to  the  Queen's  family  he  will  return  it  through 
his  projected  marriage  with  her  daughter.  (3).  In 
both  passages  Richard  makes  much  of  the  new 
relationship  which  he  hopes  is  to  be  established 
between  him  and  the  queen.  He  seeks  to  win  her 
with  the  dear  name  he  has  robbed  of  half  its  sig- 
nificance. Only  in  Shakespeare,  to  be  sure,  does 
''mother"  flash  out  each  time  Richard's  diabolical 
humility  and  ironical  tenderness. 

The  Queen  in  the  Dutch  play  answers  the  plead- 
ing of  the  King  with  feigned  humility.  "You 
really  do  us  too  great  an  honor,"  she  says.  "A 
person  of  greater  power  would  be  a  stronger 
stay  for  your  throne.  As  for  us,  let  us  enjoy  but 
peace  and  oblivion."     To  which  Richard  replies: 

You  mock  me,  lady. 

In  Shakespeare's  play  he  makes  exactly  the 
same  remark  to  the  Queen.  There,  to  be  sure,  it  is 
a  reply  to  her  savagely  sarcastic  advice  as  to  the 
proper  methods  of  wooing  her  daughter. 

1  Ibid  1.  340. 

2  Ibid  1.  435. 


240  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Send  to  her  by  the  man  that  slew  her  Brothers 
A  paire  of  bleeding  hearts. 

Richard.    You  mock  me,  Madam,  this  is  not  the  way 
To  win  your  daughter. 

This  bit  of  verbal  identity  between  the  plays  is 
interesting;  and  if  fortuitous,  really  remarkable. 

In  spite  of  the  hostile  attitude  of  the  Queen,  in 
both  plays  Richard  urges  the  mother  to  further 
his  wishes.  "Your  maternal  influence  in  the  matter 
reassures  me,"  he  says  in  the  Dutch  play, — a 
speech  which  is  a  condensed  equivalent  of  his  long 
appeal  in  Shakespeare's  play  for  the  mother  to 
serve  as  his  active  emissary.  The  Queen  in  Van 
Bosch's  play  disclaims  any  influence  upon  her 
daughter  and  urges  Richard  not  to  make  an 
effort  to  win  her  which  she  knows  will  prove 
futile.  Nevertheless  he  orders  the  obdurate  prin- 
cess to  come  into  his  presence  at  once.  She  ap- 
pears and  repels  her  uncle's  advances  with  as 
much  horror  as  she  had  shown  in  Richardus  Tertius 
and  more  fury.  She  even  begs  for  a  sword  to 
plunge  into  the  cursed  entrails  of  her  brother's 
murderer.  Her  mother's  plea  that  she  heed  her 
uncle  only  aggravates  her  righteous  anger  and 
she  leaves  threatening  Richard  with  dire  ven- 
geance. The  Queen  after  reminding  the  rejected 
lover  that  she  had  warned  him  of  the  refusal, 
begs  permission  to  depart.  Richard,  by  this 
time  irate,  shouts, 

Go,  and  may  the  Devil  curse  you  and  all  your  race! 


A    DUTCH    RICHARD    III  241 

In  Shakespeare's  play  the  interview  ends  with  a 
similar  contemptuous  thrust  by  Richard: 

Bear  her  my  true  loves  kisse,  and  so  farewell, 
Relenting  Foole,  and  shallow-changing  Woman. 

Except  for  the  introduction  of  the  Princess  in 
an  interview  which  might  be  an  intensified  version 
of  the  similar  one  in  Richardus  Tertius,  the  two 
scenes  are  alike  in  construction  and  progress  of 
dramatic  idea.  The  very  conception  of  the  dia- 
logue between  the  Queen  and  Richard  on  this 
subject,  alike  in  both  plays,  yet  not  indicated  in 
chronicle  sources,  suggests  a  relation  of  some  sort 
between  the  two  dramas.  Moreover,  Richard 
attempts  to  win  the  mother  to  his  plans  by  the 
same  sort  of  specious,  insinuating  flattery.  The 
Dutch  play  may  well  represent  a  version  which 
is  an  elaboration  of  Legge's  simple  Senecan  inven- 
tion. If  such  a  version  had  been  known  to  Shake- 
speare, it  is  easy  to  see  why  he  should  have  found 
Richard's  repulse  by  Elizabeth  inconsistent  with 
his  conception  of  his  villain  hero  and  the  nature 
of  his  tragedy.  Nemesis  could  not  have  been 
allowed  to  possess  a  multitude  of  instruments  or 
gradually  to  have  worn  away  the  King's  insolent 
power.  It  had  to  strike  instantaneously  and 
through  a  single  human  agent.  Once  the  princess 
is  eliminated  from  this  scene,  however,  the  dialogue 
that  remains  is  nothing  but  a  rudimentary  form  of 
Shakepeare's  highly  wrought  scene. 

De  Roode  en  Witte  Roos  is  like  Shakespeare  in 
other  respects  in  which  they  both  differ  from  the 

S— 16. 


242  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

chronicles.  One  of  such  scenes  is  the  interview 
between  Gloucester  and  the  young  King  upon  the 
latter's  arrival  in  London  to  be  crowned.  The 
boy  is  greatly  distressed  at  the  cruel  arrest  of  his 
uncles  Rivers  and  Grey.  Richard  naturally  asserts 
that  they  were  dangerous  traitors,  seeking  thereby 
to  transform  his  own  base  conduct  into  disinter- 
ested patriotism  in  the  eyes  of  his  nephew  and 
to  allay  his  intrusive  suspicions.^ 

In  both  Hall  and  Holinshed  the  rudiments  of 
such  a  scene  take  place  at  Stony  Stratford,  whither 
Gloucester  and  Buckingham  have  ridden  to  get 
the  King  completely  in  their  power  before  he 
reaches  London.  In  Hall's  Chronicle  the  events 
are  related  as  follows: 

And  then  [after  Rivers'  arrest]  they  mounted  on  horsbacke 
and  came  in  haste  to  Stony  Stratforde,  where  the  Kynge  was 
goyng  to  horsebacke,  because  he  would  leave  the  lodgyng  for 
them,  for  it  was  to  straight  for  bothe  the  compaignies.  And 
when  they  came  to  his  presence,  they  alighted  and  their  com- 
paignie  aboute  them  and  on  their  knees  saluted  hym.  and 
he  them  gentely  received,  nothing  yerthly  knowyng  ner  mis- 
trusting as  yet. — And  therewith  in  the  Kinge's  presence  they 
picked  a  quarrel  to  the  Lord  Richard  Grey,  the  queue's  sone,  and 
brother  to  the  lord  Marquess  and  halfebrother  to  the  King, 
saiyng  that  he  and  the  Marques  his  brother  and  the  lord  Ryvers 
his  uncle  had  compassed  to  rule  the  Kyng  and  realme^ — And 
towarde  thaccomplishment  of  the  same,  they  sayde,  the  lord 
Marques  had  entred  into  the  towre  of  London,  and  thence 
had  taken  out  treasure  and  sent  men  to  sea,  which  thynges 
these  dukes  knewe  well  were  done  for  a  good  purpose  and  as 
very  necessary,  appointed  by  the  whole  counsaill  at  London, 
but  somewhat  the^'  muste  say.  Unto  the  whiche  woordes  the 
Kynge  answered,  what  my  brother  Marques  hath  done  I  cannot 
say,  but  in  good  faythe  I  dare  well  answer  for  mine  uncle  Rivers 
and  my  brother  here,  that  they  be  innocente  of  suche  matters. 


1  De  Roode  en  Witte  Roos,  I,  i,  &  Richard  the  Third,  III,  i. 


A   DUTCH    RICHARD    III  243 

Yee,  my  lieage,  quod  the  duke  of  Buckyngham,  they  have  kept 
the  dealynge  of  these  matters  farre  from  the  knowledge  of  youre 
good  grace. — And  there  they  sent  from  the  Kyng  whom  it 
pleased  them,  and  set  aboute  him  such  servantes  as  better 
pleased  them  then  him.  At  which  dealynge  he  wepte  and  was 
not  content,  but  it  booted  not.  ...  In  this  maner  as  you  have 
heard,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  toke  on  him  the  governaunce  of 
the  younge  Kynge,  whom  with  much  reverence  he  conveied 
towards  London. ^ 

The  scene  in  the  True  Tragedie  of  Richard  the 
Third,  the  earliest  extant  dramatization  of  this 
particular  part  of  the  story,  follows  closely  the 
above  account.  It,  too,  is  laid  in  Stony  Strat- 
ford, and  in  all  essentials  is  a  mere  mechanical 
elaboration  of  the  material  in  the  chronicles.  After 
Gloucester,  Buckingham  and  'Hheir  train"  have 
arrested  Rivers,  they  meet  the  young  King. 

Richard.     Long  live  my  Princely  Nephew  in  all  happinesse. 
King.     Thanks   unckle   of  Gloster  for  your  curtesie,  yet  you 
have  made  hast,  for  we  lookt  not  for  you  as  yet. 

Then  Lord  Grey  upon  the  merest  pretext  is 
accused  of  malice  to  the  royal  blood  and  arrested 
as  traitor.  The  young  King  protests  against  this 
seizure  as  palpable  contempt  for  his  authority  and 
as  unjust  to  Lord  Grey. 

King.  I  know  my  uncle  will  conceale  no  treason,  or  dangerous 
secresie  from  us. 

Richard.  Yes,  secrets  that  are  too  subtil  for  babes.  Alasse, 
my  Lord,  you  are  a  child,  and  they  use  you  as  a  child;  but 
they  consult  and  conclude  of  such  matters,  as  were  we  not 
carefull,  would  prove  preiudiciall  to  your  Maiesties  person. 
Therf ore  let  not  your  grace  feare  anything  by  our  determina- 
tion, for  as  my  authoritie  is  only  under  your  grace,  so  shall 

^  Edward  Hall's  Chronicle,  etc. — carefully  collated  with  the  editions  of 
1548  and  1550.    London,  1809.    p.  349. 


244  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

my  loyalte  deserve  hereafter  the  just  recompense  of  a 
true  subiect,  therfore  I  hauing  charge  from  my  brother, 
your  father,  and  our  late  deceased  king,  during  the  minorite 
of  your  grace,  I  will  use  my  authoritie  as  I  see  good.^ 

In  Shakespeare  there  is  no  scene  exactly  cor- 
responding to  this  one.  The  arrest  of  Lord  Rivers 
and  Lord  Grey  is  reported  by  a  messenger.  The 
interview  between  the  young  King,  Gloster,  Buck- 
ingham, the  Lord  Cardinal  and  others,  in  defiance 
of  Chronicle  authority  laid  in  London,  is  as  follows: 

Buckingham.     Welcome,  sweete  Prince  to  London, 
To  your  Chamber. 

Richard.     Welcome  deere  Cosin,  my  thoughts  Soueraign 
The  wearie  way  hath  made  you  Melancholly. 

Prince.     No  Unkle,  but  our  crosses  on  the  way, 
Haue  made  it  tedious,  wearisome,  and  heauie. 
I  want  more  Unkles  heere  to  welcome  me. 

Richard.     Sweet  Prince,  the  untainted  vertue  of  your  yeers 
Hath  not  yet  diu'd  into  the  World's  deceit; 
No  more  can  you  distinguish  of  a  man, 
Then  of  his  outward  shew,  which  God  he  knowes, 
Seldome  or  never  jumpeth  with  the  heart. 
Those  Unkles  which  you  want,  were  dangerous: 
Your  Grace  attended  to  their  Sugred  words. 
But  look'd  not  on  the  poyson  of  their  hearts: 
God  keepe  you  from  them,  and  from  such  false  Friends. 

Prince.     God  keepe  me  from  false  Friends, 
But  they  were  none.^ 

In  the  Dutch  play  the  scene  is  also  laid  not  at 
Stony  Stratford  but  in  London, — a  significant 
point  of  agreement.  The  nobles  who  greet  the 
King  are  Gloucester  and  Buckingham,  as  in  Shake- 
speare; but  instead  of  the  Lord  Cardinal,  the  Arch- 
bishop York.     This  last  substitution  suggests  that 

^  Hazlitt's  Shakespeare's  Library,  V,  pp.  77  ff. 
*  III,  i,  11.  5-22. 


A    DUTCH    RICHARD    III  245 

the  ultimate  source  of  De  Roode  en  Witte  Roos 
at  this  point  was  not  Hall  as  in  Richard  the  Third 
but  Holinshed.  As  Professor  Churchill  has  pointed 
out^  in  making  this  change  of  personage  Holinshed 
followed  More,  who  by  an  historical  mistake  not 
found  in  the  Latin  version,  confused  the  Arch- 
bishops of  Canterbury  and  York.  This  fact  in 
itself  is  sufTicient  to  show  that  the  source  of  De 
Roode  en  Witte  Roos  is  not  Shakespeare's  Richard 
the  Third. 

The  dialogue  of  this  scene  in  the  Dutch  play  is  as 
follows : 

Glocester.  Believe  me,  nephew,  your  gracious  Majesty  in  truth 
hath  no  cause  at  all  for  fear.  Am  I  not  of  thy  blood,  thy 
nearest  of  kin?  Was  not  the  care  of  thine  estate  entrusted 
to  me?  Did  not  thy  father  command  me  to  guard  thy 
precious  head?  Ah,  believe  thine  uncle  and  let  no  sus- 
picions be  harbored  in  thy  heart.  'Tis  all  to  thine  ad- 
vantage, for  thy  good,  whatever  may  happen  anywhere, 
however  thy  Majesty  may  choose  to  interpret  it.  Tis 
true,  and  ought  to  give  thee  the  greatest  joy  that  hands 
have  been  laid  upon  thy  brother. 

Grey.  But  what,  I  pray  thee,  is  the  cause  of  such  an  act? 
Glocester.     Was  it  not  sanctioned  by  all  the  other  noblemen,  as  a 

fitting  penalty  for  the  crimes  of  such  filthy  villains? 
King.     That's  not  proved. 

Glocester.  Ha!  They  have  feigned  very  well.  Their  supreme 
cunning  is  that  their  deeds  are  easily  concealed  from  thy 
royal  throne.  But  there  is  proof  enough.  'Tis  known  that 
they  did  steal  away  from  the  tower  its  treasure  and  its 
arms.  Why  did  they  this  but  to  beleaguer  thy  youthful 
Majesty?  They  know  that  thou  art  yet  in  years  tender  and 
inexperienced;  and  that  breeds  plots  against  thy  life. 
Such  traitors  fail  to  remember  that  thine  uncle's  heart 
would  rather  burst  within  its  breast  than  be  reproached  by 
anyone  with  lack  of  faith. 


^  Richard  the  Third  up  to  Shakespeare,  p.  20f. 


246  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

This  dramatic  version  follows  the  account  in  the 
Chronicles  rather  faithfully.  Yet  it  differs  from 
the  traditional  story  (1)  in  that  the  scene  is  laid  in 
London,  (2)  in  that  the  hypocrisy  of  Richard  is 
made  a  little  more  suave  and  intriguing,  and  (3) 
in  that  the  young  King  is  made  more  determined  in 
his  assertion  of  the  innocence  of  Rivers  and  Grey. 
Shakespeare's  scene  differs  from  the  Chronicle 
sources  in  these  same  respects.  The  manner  in 
which  the  Prince  develops  from  a  mere  counter  in 
expository  dialogue  into  a  figure  upon  whom  the 
dramatic  appeal  is  designedly  centered  is  illumi- 
native of  the  true  relations  between  the  various 
accounts. 

In  Hall  the  King  defends  his  relatives  in  the 
following  careless  fashion: 

In  good  faythe  I  dare  well  answer  for  mine  uncle  Rivers  and 
my  brother  here  that  they  be  innocente  of  suche  matters. 

In  The  True  Tragedie  his  reply  is  of  the  same 
mild,  impersonal  sort: 

I  knowe  my   uncle   will   conceale  no  treason  or  dangerous 
secresie  from  us. 

In  the  Dutch  play  he  vindicates  his  relatives 
with  much  more  assurance  and  determination. 
In  reply  to  Richard's  assertion  that  the  two  have 
received  condign  punishment  for  their  villainy, 
he  replies  sharply, 

That's  not  proved. 

In  Shakespeare's  play  this  courageous  attitude 
of  loyalty  is  made  the  point  of  the  interview  be- 
tween the  King  and  his  uncle: 


A    DUTCH    RICHARD    III  247 

Richard.     Your  Grace  attended  to  their  Sugred  words, 
But  looked  not  on  the  poyson  of  their  hearts; 
God  keepe  you  from  them,  and  from  such  false  Friends. 

Prince.     God  keepe  me  from  false  Friends, 
But  they  were  none. 

All  the  conversation  in  this  scene  is  designed  to 
lead  up  to  this  speech.  More  than  any  other  re- 
mark the  Prince  makes,  this  one  establishes  the 
wistful  charm  of  his  character  and  the  utter  pathos 
of  his  fate.  As  soon  as  he  has  made  this  brave 
speech,  Shakespeare  purposely  diverts  our  atten- 
tion to  an  entirely  different  situation. 

Assuming  for  the  moment  that  the  Dutch  scene 
represents  a  dramatic  version  earlier  than  that  of 
Shakespeare,  one  could  hardly  fmd  a  better  illus- 
tration of  the  gradual  eminence  of  dramatic  point 
and  instantaneous  revelation  of  character  out  of 
artless  narrative,  than  in  the  successive  stages  of 
the  development  of  this  one  speech  of  the  young 
King. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  point  of  comparison 
between  the  two  plays  is  found  in  the  appearance 
of  the  ghosts.  The  Chronicles  contain  but  the 
barest  suggestion  for  such  a  highly  complicated 
scene  as  that  in  Shakespeare.  Hall  has  merely  the 
following: 

The  fame  went  that  he  had  the  same  night  a  dreadful  and  a 
terrible  dreame,  for  it  seemed  to  him  beynge  a  slepe  that  he  saw 
diverse  ymages  lyke  terrible  devilles  whiche  pulled  and  haled 
hym,  not  sufTerynge  hym  to  take  any  quyet  or  rest.  The 
whiche  straunge  vision  not  so  sodeinly  strake  his  heart  with  a 
sodeyne  feare,  but  it  stuffed  his  hed  and  troubled  his  mynde 
with  many  dreadfuU  and  busy  Imaginacions.  For  incontynent 
after,  his  heart  beynge  almost  damped,  he  prognosticated  before 


248  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

the  doubtful!  chaunce  of  the  bataille  to  come,  not  usynge  the 
alacrite  and  myrthe  of  mynde  and  of  countenance  as  he  was 
accustomed  to  do  before  he  came  toward  the  bataille.  And  least 
that  it  might  be  suspected  that  he  was  abasshed  for  feare  of  his 
enemyes,  and  for  that  cause  looked  so  piteously,  he  recyted  and 
declared  to  his  famylyer  frendes  in  the  morenynge  hys  wonderfull 
visyon  and  terrible  dream.  But  I  think  this  was  no  dreame, 
but  a  punccion  and  pricke  of  his  synfull  conscience.^ 

The  author  of  The  True  Tragedie,  the  first  extant 
play  to  embody  this  particular  material,  indicated 
the  dramatic  possibilities  of  the  ''diverse  ymages 
lyke  terrible  devilles  which  pulled  and  haled  him" 
without  actually  dramatizing  them.  The  follow- 
ing monologue  of  the  King  recounts  his  dreadful 
colloquy  with  the  "yi^^g^s." 

Enters  the  King  and  Lord  Lovell. 
King.     The  hell  of  life  that  hangs  upon  the  Crowne, 
The  daily  cares,  the  nightly  dreames, 
The  wretched  crewes,  the  treason  of  the  foe, 
The  horror  of  my  bloodie  practise  past. 
Strikes  such  a  terror  to  my  wounded  conscience 
That  sleep  I,  wake  I,  whatsoever  I  do, 
Meethinkes  their  ghoasts  comes  gaping  for  revenge, 
Whome  I  have  slain  in  reaching  for  a  Croune. 
Clarence  complaines,  and  crieth  for  revenge. 
My  Nephues  bloods,  Revenge,  revenge  doth  crie. 
The  headless  Peeres  come  preasing  for  revenge. 
And  everyone  cries,  let  the  tyrant  die. 
The  Sunne  by  day  shines  hotely  for  revenge. 
The  Aloone  of  night  eclipseth  for  revenge. 
The  Stars  are  turned  to  Comets  for  revenge. 
The  Planets  chaunge  their  courses  for  revenge. 
The  birds  sing  not,  but  sorrow  for  revenge. 
The  silly  Lambes  sit  bleating  for  revenge. 
The  screeking  Raven  sits  croaking  for  revenge. 
Whole  herds  of  beasts  comes  bellowing  for  revenge. 
And  all,  yea  all  the  world  I  think 
Cries  for  revenge,  and  nothing  but  revenge. 
But  to  conclude,  I  have  deserved  revenge.^ 

^  Hall's  Chronicle,  p.  414. 

*  Hazlitt's  Shakespeare's  Library,  V,  117. 


A    DUTCH    RICHARD    III  249 

The  author  spends  most  of  his  creative  energy  in 
this  scene  in  the  rhetorical  massing  of  the  all  im- 
portant Senecan  word.  Yet,  in  passing,  as  it  were, 
he  has  transformed  the  vague  ^'diverse  ymages" 
into  the  ghosts  of  those 

Whome  I  have  slaine  in  reaching  for  a  Crowne. 

Part  of  Shakespeare's  ghost  scene  is  merely  a 
dramatization  of  this  suggestion.  The  ghost  of 
Prince  Edward,  Henry  the  Sixth,  Clarence,  Rivers, 
Grey,  Vaughan,  Lord  Hastings,  the  two  young 
Princes,  his  wife  Anne,  and  Buckingham  each  rises 
in  turn  to  take  his  ominous  revenge.  Each  one  re- 
hearses briefly  the  circumstances  of  his  death  and 
then  ends  with  a  cry  which  becomes  a  sort  of  re- 
frain, ''Despaire  and  dye."  When  the  last  one  has 
vanished,  Richard  starts  from  his  dream  and  utters 
his  famous  speech: 

Giue  me  another  Horse,  bind  up  my  Wounds: 

Haue  mercy  Jesu.     Soft,  I  did  but  dreame. 

0  coward  Conscience!  how  dost  thou  afflict  me? 

The  Lights  burn  blew.     It  is  not  dead  midnight. 

Cold  fearefull  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh. 

What?  do  I  feare  my  Selfe?     There's  none  else  by, 

Richard  loues  Richard,  that  is  I  am  I. 

Is  there  a  Murtherer  heere?     No;  Yes,  I  am: 

Then  flye;  What  from  my  Selfe?     Great  reason:     why? 

Lest  I  reuenge.     What?  my  Selfe  upon  my  Selfe? 

Alacke,  I  loue  my  Selfe.     Wherefore?     For  any  good 

That  I  my  Selfe,  haue  done  unto  my  Selfe? 

0  no.     Alas,  I  rather  hate  my  Selfe, 
For  hatefull  deeds  committed  by  my  Selfe. 

1  am  a  Villaine:     yet  I  Lye,  I  am  not. 
Foole,  of  thy  Selfe  speake  well:     Foole,  do  not  flatter. 
My  Conscience  hath  a  thousand  seuerall  Tongues, 
And  euery  Tongue  brings  in  a  seuerall  Tale, 


250  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

And  euery  Tale  condemnes  me  for  a  Villaine; 

Periurie,  in  the  high'st  degree, 

Murther,  sterne  murther,  in  the  dyr'st  degree, 

All  seuerall  sinnes,  all  us'd  in  each  degree, 

Thronge  all  to'  th'  Barre,  crying  all.  Guilty,  Guilty. 

I  shall  dispaire,  there  is  no  Creature  loues  me; 

And  if  I  die,  no  soule  shall  pittie  me. 

Nay,  wherefore  should  they?     Since  that  I  my  Selfe, 

Finde  in  my  Selfe,  no  pittie  to  my  Selfe. 

Me  thought,  the  Soules  of  all  that  I  had  murther'd 

Came  to  my  tent,    and  euery  one  did  threat 

To  morrowes  vengeance  on  the  head  of  Richard. i 

This  speech  has  been  usually  considered  a  mix- 
ture of  tragical  effectiveness  and  mere  verbal  quib- 
ble. The  following  sentence  from  Skottowe's  Life 
of  Shakespeare  expresses  the  traditional  critical 
opinion  of  the  passage.  "The  first  six  lines  of  this 
soliloquy,"  he  writes,  "are  deeply  expressive  of  the 
terrors  of  a  guilty  conscience;  but  the  conceits  and 
quibbles  which  disfigure  the  remainder  completely 
destroy  the  moral  impression. "^ 

I  believe  that  a  possible  explanation  of  this  psy- 
chologizing may  be  found  in  the  ghost  scene  as  it 
appears  in  De  Roode  en  Witte  Roos.     (V.  ii,  11 1-27.) 

Richard — Ghost. 

Richard.  What  art  thou?  Gracious  Heaven!  What  terror 
shakes  my  limbs!  Vain  fear.  I  will  approach  it  some- 
what nearer.  Who  art  thou?  Speak,  I  say.  May  the 
thunder  smite  thee!     What  is  thy  name.^ 

Ghost.     My  name  is  Richard. 

Richard.     Richard? 

Ghost.     Yes. 

Richard.  I  am  startled  and  quake  with  fear.  What  seek'st 
thou  here? 


1  V,  iii,  209-238. 

2  II,  202. 


RITSON   ON    SHAKESPEARE  251 

Ghost.     Myself. 

Richard.  0  God!  What  horror  comes  to  pierce  my  heart. 
My  mind  is  completely  amazed,  and  finds  no  peace.  There 
it  departs  and  flees  much  lighter  than  the  wind.  What 
ghost  or  frenzy  has  come  hither  to  assail  me? 

Ghost  from  within.     Hold,  Richard! 

Richard.     Who  is  there? 

Ghost  from  within.     Your  death  is  at  hand. 

Richard.     Ah  me! 

If  Shakespeare  had  known  such  a  scene  as  this  in 
which  the  ghost  of  Richard's  own  self  had  appeared 
to  him,  it  is  not  improbable  that  he  would  have 
transformed  it  into  an  introspective  soliloquy  such 
as  his  character  utters.  His  villain  hero  was  too 
brave  and  too  masterful  to  be  reduced  to  a  state 
of  nervous  terror  by  his  own  image.  The  prophecy 
of  death  appropriate  enough  in  the  mouth  of  the 
ghost  himself,  reiterated  again  and  again  as  in 
Shakespeare,  becomes  a  vast  pervasive  super- 
natural curse  beneath  which  even  a  strong  man 
might  quail.  Moreover,  the  actual  appearance  of 
Richard's  ghost  might  have  seemed  over  ingenious. 
As  an  excited  recognition  of  the  duality  of  his  per- 
sonality, the  idea  was  more  impressive.  Yet  cer- 
tain parts  of  Shakespeare's  scene, — notably  such 
lines  as: 

Is  there  a  murderer  here?     No,  Yes,  I  am. 

Then  flye:     What  from  my  Selfe?     Great  reason;     why? 

Lest  I  revenge.  What?     My  Selfe  upon  Myself. 

taken  by  themselves  are  almost  inexplicable.  Only 
when  we  read  them  in  relation  to  some  such  postu- 
lated source  as  that  represented  in  the  Dutch  play 
do  they  become  intelligible. 


252  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

In  this  discussion  I  have  occasionally  assumed 
that  the  position  of  the  Dutch  play  in  the  Richard 
Saga  could  be  fixed  with  some  defmiteness.  It 
seems,  now  and  then,  to  be  best  understood  as 
representing  an  English  version  of  the  story  ante- 
cedent to  that  of  Shakespeare.  My  present  pur- 
pose is  not  so  ambitious.  For  the  moment  I  am 
content  to  show  that  in  De  Roode  en  Witte  Roos, 
published  in  Amsterdam  in  1651,  we  have  an  in- 
teresting and  illuminating  analogue  of  Shake- 
speare's Richard  the  Third. 


JOSEPH  RITSON  AND  SOME  EIGHTEENTH 
CENTURY  EDITORS  OF  SHAKESPEARE 

HENRY   A.    BURD 


The  eighteenth  century  is  replete  with  editors 
and  critics  of  Shakespeare.  The  increasing  volume 
of  Shakespeare  literature  as  the  century  advanced 
represents  that  growing  interest  in  the  old  English 
writers  and  increasing  familiarity  with  their  works 
which  we  are  told  was  one  of  the  ^'beginnings  of 
romanticism".  This  rising  interest  was  a  com- 
plex growth.  There  are  the  bare  mathematical 
facts  of  the  increasing  number  of  Shakespeare 
references  and  allusions  in  the  literature  and  in 
the  private  correspondence  of  the  century;  the 
increasing  frequency  with  which  new  editions 
appeared;  and  the  rapidly  growing  army  of  anno- 
tators,  commentators,  and  essayists.  Then  there 
are  the  less  tangible  but  no  less  real  facts  of  the 
changing  attitude  toward  Shakespeare:  from  a 
patronizing  view  of  the  dramatist  as  an  inspired 
barbarian,  to  a  conception  of  him  as  the  tran- 
scendent artist;  from  a  blind  and  ignorant  worship 
to  a  sane  and  serious  study;  from  a  heterogeneous 
hodge-podge  of  criticism  to  a  common  conception 
of  the  duties  of  the  editor  and  critic. 

[253] 


254  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

This  evolution  was  gradual,  but  it  was  more 
rapid  toward  the  close  of  the  century  than  at  the 
beginning.  Some  of  the  greatest  and  some  of  the 
least  of  England's  literary  men  helped  it  along. 
To  the  lesser,  oftentimes,  was  it  given  to  correct 
the  greater  and  to  make  straight  the  paths  for 
feet  more  worthy  to  tread  them.  One  of  the 
least  known  of  these  minor  agencies,  though  by 
no  means  the  least  important,  was  Joseph  Ritson, 
1752-1803,  critic  of  Shakespeare  and  of  Shake- 
speare's critics.  Although  his  chief  claim  to  atten- 
tion in  the  history  of  English  letters  must  continue 
to  rest  upon  his  work  with  the  ballads  and  romances, 
yet  he  deserves  to  be  better  known  as  a  critic  and 
emendator  of  Shakespeare.  Unlike  many,  if  not 
most,  of  his  contemporaries,  he  had  a  profound 
reverence  for  Shakespeare  and  considered  him  the 
great  universal  genius.  He  had  a  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  the  original  quartos  and  folios,  which  en- 
abled him  to  detect  textual  mutilations  and  altera- 
tions. Through  his  influence  these  first  texts  re- 
ceived something  of  the  consideration  due  them  at 
the  hands  of  Shakespeare's  editors.  Ritson  pos- 
sessed ideas  of  editorship  and  a  conception  of  the 
function  of  the  critic  which  were  in  advance  of  his 
day,  and  by  unremitting  insistence  upon  them  he 
helped  to  establish  standards  which  are  now 
recognized  as  inviolable.  His  own  contributions 
to  Shakespearean  interpretation  are  by  no  means 
to  be  ignored.  Most  at  home  in  the  minutiae  of 
textual  correction,  he  was  not  devoid  of  an  appre- 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  255 

elation  of  the  eharaeters  and  of  the  plays  as  a  whole, 
and  made  many  sound  observations  upon  them. 

To  these  qualities  the  personal  equation  added 
more  in  the  case  of  Ritson  than  in  that  of  perhaps 
any  one  of  his  contemporaries.  The  personal, 
controversial  flavor  which  was  characteristic  of 
eighteenth  century  criticism,  but  which  is  almost 
wholly  wanting  in  our  own  day,  lent  interest  to 
all  Ritson's  comments.  He  had  a  vein  of  acidity 
in  his  nature  which  could  not  be  hidden,  and  much 
of  his  criticism  was  poignantly  personal.  He 
often  put  Shakespeare  in  the  background  while  he 
lashed  Steevens  or  Dr.  Johnson  or  Malone,  or 
even  Reed  or  Farmer.  But  he  respected  these 
men,  and  in  his  less  heated  moments  invariably 
repented  of  his  harsh  treatment  of  them.  Such 
conduct  brought  down  upon  his  head  the  scorn 
and  ridicule  of  the  reviewers.  The  Reviews  may 
have  killed  Keats;  they  galvanized  Ritson  into 
action  and  gave  us  one,  and  perhaps  two,  Shake- 
speare pamphlets  we  should  not  otherwise  have 
had.  Because  they  afforded  the  means  of  carry- 
ing on  personal  warfare,  and  because  they  seemed, 
in  large  measure,  published  for  that  purpose  rather 
than  for  the  display  of  Ritson's  Shakespearean 
scholarship,  the  chronology  of  his  pamphlets  sepa- 
rates rather  distinctly  from  the  criticisms  as  such. 

In  1783  appeared  a  small  volume  of  disconnected 
notes  entitled  Remarks,  Critical  and  Illustrative, 
on  the  Text  and  Notes  of  the  Last  Edition  of  Shak- 
speare.  It  was  directed  against  the  Johnson  and 
Steevens  Shakspeare  of  1778,    and  especially  against 


256  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Steevens.  Although  the  book  was  anonymous,  the 
minute  character  of  the  notes  and  the  tone  of 
personal  rancor  with  which  they  were  set  forth, 
left  little  doubt  as  to  their  author.  Of  the  457 
notes  in  the  volume,  half  are  concerned  with 
textual  emendation,  the  remainder  with  errors  of 
judgment  of  Steevens  and  his  fellow  commenta- 
tors. 

It  was  little  to  be  expected  that  Steevens,  whose 
insinuating  abuse  had  already  disposed  of  a  brace 
of  critical  opponents,  would  let  pass  without  some 
effort  at  refutation,  a  charge  more  serious  against 
his  literary  reputation  and  more  ably  sustained 
than  that  of  either  Collins  or  Jennens.  Under 
the  signature  of  ''Alciphron"  (in  the  St.  James's 
Chronicle,  June  5,  1783)  he  dismissed  the  Remarks 
as  trivial  and  insignificant,  as  treating  not  a  single 
'^important  and  shining  passage  of  Shakspeare*'. 
Signing  himself  "Justice",  Ritson  replied  the  next 
week  that  the  design  of  the  "Remarker"  had  been 
to  prove  the  late  edition  of  Shakespeare  "an 
execrable  bad  one;  and  this,  I  say,  he  has  done." 
Such  school-boy  assertion  and  denial  did  nothing, 
of  course,  to  establish  the  critical  status  of  Ritson 
or  his  book;  they  served  merely  as  means  of  escape 
for  personal  animus.  When  the  edge  of  their 
rancor  had  grown  dull,  Steevens  and  Ritson  con- 
tinued on  friendly  terms.  The  editor  kept  the 
critic  informed  of  his  various  undertakings  and 
was  from  time  to  time  supplied  by  him  with  inter- 
esting notes  on  Shakespeare. 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  257 

It  was  perhaps  largely  owing  to  their  continued 
correspondence  that  Ritson  came  eventually  to 
feel  that  his  published  attack  upon  Steevens  was 
quite  unworthy  of  himself.  More  than  a  decade 
after  its  appearance,  he  wrote  to  his  nephew, 
Joseph  Frank,  who  had  undertaken  to  make  some 
corrections  in  it:  "In  behalf  of  the  Remarks  I 
have  nothing  to  say.  Indeed,  I  should  think  you 
much  better  employed  in  putting  them  into  the 
fire,  than  in  a  vain  attempt  to  diminish  the  inac- 
curacies of  such  a  mass  of  error,  both  typographical 
and  authorial."  Ritson's  final  estimate  of  Steevens 
accords  well  with  the  judgment  of  posterity.  As 
a  commentator  he  recognized  his  rival  as  a  man  of 
acuteness  and  wit,  whose  arguments  were  ^'always 
ingenious  and  plausible,  but  not  in  every  way  con- 
vincing," but  as  an  editor  of  Shakespeare  he 
thought  him  deficient  in  true  poetical  feeling,  and 
devoid  of  reverence  for  his  author. 

The  Warton  controversy^  had  brought  Ritson 
into  a  prominence  not  altogether  enviable  as  a  critic 
and  antagonist,  and  the  reception  of  the  Remarks 
by  the  Reviews  was  largely  influenced  by  the 
opinion  previously  formed  of  its  author.  The 
minute  accuracy  in  textual  collations,  the  extensive 
learning  displayed,  the  contributions  to  Shake- 
speare interpretation — all  these  were  damned  with 
faint  praise  as  the  reviewers  hastened  on  to  con- 

^  Ritson  was  introduced  to  the  literary  world  in  1782  through  the  me- 
dium of  a  controversial  pamphlet,  Observations  on  the  three  first  volumes  of 
the  History  of  English  Poetry  in  a  Familiar  Letter  to  the  Author.  For  nearly 
a  year  the  correspondence  columns  of  the  literary  journals  were  filled  with 
letters  praising  or  condemning,  with  varying  degrees  of  ardor  or  violence, 
this   pamphlet  and  its  author. 

S— 17. 


258  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

demn  the  offensive  assurance,  the  unwonted  ego- 
tism, and  the  unparalleled  violence  of  the  author. 
Using  the  methods  which  they  condemned,  they 
turned  Ritson's  own  weapons  upon  himself  and 
accused  him  of  plagiarizing  from  the  Supplements 
of  Malone  and  Steevens  material  to  correct  their 
own  faults.  To  the  arch-enemy  of  plagiarists  and 
editorial  defaulters,  this  was  a  serious  charge;  and 
he  hastened  to  enter  his  denial.  In  addition  to 
Ritson's  assertion  that  he  ''was  not  aware  of  being 
anticipated  in  more  than  a  single  instance,"  it  ap- 
pears from  chronology  that  plagiarism  was  all  but 
impossible.^  The  logical  conclusion  is  that  the 
notes  in  question  occurred  simultaneously  to  Ritson 
and  Malone  (or  Steevens),  working  independently. 
Whereas  his  own  books  were  little  praised  and 
largely  censured,  Ritson  frequently  saw  less  ac- 
curate productions  accorded  unalloyed  praise.  It 
was  impossible  for  him  to  understand  why  of  two 
works,  the  one  moderately  correct  but  urbane  in 
manner,  the  other  flawless  in  fact  but  vituperative 
in  tone,  the  less  perfect  should  be  the  more  highly 
commended.  Quick  to  detect  and  anxious  to  pun- 
ish any  personal  thrust  at  himself,  he  refused  to 
grant  to  others  the  same  privilege,  and  indeed 
seemed  not  to  know  when  he  had  spoken  so  sharply 
as  to  give  offense.  He  proclaimed  himself  enlisted 
in  the  cause  of  Truth,  and  in  her  service  he  con- 
sidered everything  fair.  If  enthusiasm  for  his 
goddess  sometimes  led  him  beyond  the  bounds  of 

^  Ritson's  volume  went  to  press  in  October,  1782,  and  was  published  in 
the  spring  of  1783,  a  few  weeks,  at  the  most,  after  the  Second  Supplement. 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  259 

literary  propriety,  he  either  did  not  recognize  it,  or, 
recognizing,  justified  the  means  by  the  end.  But 
his  critics  refused  to  take  this  view,  and  largely 
ignored  the  truth  of  his  writings  while  they  con- 
demned his  manner.  The  reviewers  seemed  even 
to  go  out  of  their  way  to  censure  him.  From  this 
he  came  to  believe  that  they  were  in  league  to  de- 
stroy his  literary  character,  and  grew  to  feel  that 
he  had  a  personal  grievance  against  them. 

In  the  Reed  edition  of  the  Johnson  and  Steevens 
Shakspeare,  1785,  Ritson  felt  that  he  had  been  very 
unjustly  dealt  with,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  more  than  two  hundred  of  the  notes  in  the 
Remarks  had  been  appropriated  by  the  editor. 
When  the  tardy  reviews  of  this  edition  appeared, 
Ritson  was  sneered  at  as  an  "orthographic  muti- 
neer," and  as  a  critic  he  was  relegated  to  the  ranks 
of  the  "unimportant."  Thus  stung  to  action  he 
took  up  the  notes  he  had  made  "in  turning  over 
the  revised  edition  immediately  after  its  publica- 
tion, but  had  laid  aside  and  almost  forgotten,"^ 
and  put  them  to  the  press  as.  The  Quip  Modest;  a 
few  words  by  way  of  Supplement  to  Remarks,  Critical 
and  Illustrative,  on  the  Text  and  Notes  of  the  Last 
Edition  of  Shakspeare;  occasioned  by  a  republica- 
tion of  that  Edition,  Revised  and  Augmented  by  the 
Editor  of  Dodsley's  Old  Plays.  There  was  a  Preface 
in  which  he  heaped  scorn  and  invective  on  those 
"very  good  Christians,"  his  "liberal  and  candid 
friends,"  the  reviewers. 


1  These  notes  consisted  of  a  score  of  comments  from  the  Remarks  and  a 
dozen  new  notes,  mostly  textual. 


260  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

The  notes  in  which  Ritson  considered  himself 
most  disrespectfully  treated  were  signed  with  the 
editor's  initials,  but  he  chose  to  think  them  not 
from  Reed,  but  from  "some  obliging  friend  who  has 
desired  to  be  effectually  concealed  under  the  sanc- 
tion of  the  editor's  signature."  That  he  thought 
this  "obliging  friend"  to  be  Steevens  is  clear  from 
the  following  comment,  which  was  a  part  of  the 
original  Preface:  "This  worthy  gentleman  is 
probably  the  infamous  scoundrel  who  published 
An  Address  to  the  Curious  in  Poetry,^  as,  however 
little  relation  it  may  have  to  Shakspeare,  the 
author  has  had  interest  enough  to  procure  it  a 
place  in  the  'List  of  Detatched  Pieces  of  Criticism, 
&c.,'  prefixed  to  the  revised  edition.  A  congenial- 
ity of  disposition  in  the  Critical  Reviewers  pro- 
cured this  fellow  a  different  reception  from  those 
literary  hangmen,  from  that  which  he  may  one  day 
experience  from  a  well-known  practical  professor 
of  the  same  mystery." 

After  a  few  copies  of  the  Quip  Modest  had  been 
sold,  Ritson  came  to  feel,  or,  more  probably,  was 
persuaded,  that  this  note  was  "too  strong  for  the 
person  alluded  to,"  and  he  stopped  the  sale  of  the 
work  long  enough  to  cancel  it  and  substitute  the 
following — perhaps  ironical — statement -.^  "Above 
all  I  wish  to  declare  that  the  candor,  liberality, 


^  A  Familiar  Address  to  the  Curious  in  English  Poetry,  more  particularly 
to  the  Readers  of  Shakspeare.  By  Thersites  Literarius.  London,  1784. 
This  rather  inconsequential  tract  was  written  in  the  first  person  as  though 
it  came  from  Ritson,  and  gave  him  great  offense. 

^  Ritson  was  not  yet  far  enough  removed  from  his  original  quarrel  with 
Steevens  to  treat  him  with  the  candor  which  he  later  exhibited. 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  261 

and  politeness  which  distinguish  Mr.  Steevens,  ut- 
terly exclude  him  from  every  imputation  of  this 
nature." 

But  Steevens  and  the  reviewers  were  not  the  only 
ones  to  feel  Ritson's  wrath  in  his  second  Shake- 
speare pamphlet.  Reed  was  the  ostensible  editor 
of  the  work  under  fire,  and  although  Ritson,  rather 
awkwardly,  attempted  to  exclude  him  from  all 
blame,  he  did  not  succeed.  These  two  men  had 
been  friends  for  several  years,  and  both  were  loath 
to  break  the  ties.  When  the  Quip  Modest  appeared, 
Reed  wrote  to  Ritson  protesting  their  friendship 
as  sufficient  guarantee  of  his  good  intentions  to- 
ward the  critic,  but  omitting  to  disavow  the  notes 
at  which  Ritson  had  taken  deep  offense.  John 
Baynes,  1758-1787,  was  appointed  arbitrator,  and 
after  the  exchange  of  several  letters,  in  which  Reed 
ultimately  flatly  disclaimed  the  objectionable 
notes,  the  breach  was  healed,  and  each  man  ex- 
pressed himself  as  desirous  of  the  continued  friend- 
ship of  the  other  and  anxious  to  forget  the  past. 

If  Ritson  really  believed  that  his  indecent  slurs  in 
the  Quip  Modest  would  cause  the  reviewers 
to  treat  him  with  less  familiarity,  he  was  a  poor 
judge  of  human  nature.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
was  wilfully  provoking  them  to  further  assaults 
that  he  might  have  justification  for  a  counter- 
attack, he  accomplished  his  purpose.  The  Quip 
Modest  was  handled  by  the  reviewers  in  a  half- 
humorous  manner  as  the  inconsequential  pro- 
duction of  an  eccentric  critic.  The  attitude  of 
conscious   superiority    assumed   by   the   reviewers 


262  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

angered  Ritson  now  more  than  it  had  done  before. 
In  Ms  view  it  was  beyond  the  pale  of  human  possi- 
bility for  any  one  to  judge  fairly,  after  only  a  casual 
perusal,  a  book  which  had  been  months — perhaps 
years — in  preparation.  The  presumptuousness  of 
the  reviewers  in  doing  this,  he  was  bound  to  expose. 
His  opportunity  came  in  the  publication  of  Ma- 
lone's  Shakspeare,  in  1790. 

After  two  years  of  preparation  and  delay,  Ritson 
published  a  pamphlet  of  a  hundred  and  four  pages, 
entitled.  Cursory  Criticisms  on  the  Edition  of  Shak- 
speare Published  by  Edmond  Malone.  He  prefixed 
a  bitterly  acrimonious  letter  "To  the  Monthly  and 
Critical  Reviewers,"  for  the  purpose,  he  says,  "to 
induce  you,  before  yo\i  pass  sentence  on  the  follow- 
ing pages,  to  read  them  through:  'Strike,  but 
hear,'''  "I  consider  you,"  he  cries,  "as  two  formid- 
able and  mischievous  gangs  of  nocturnal  banditti, 
or  invisible  footpads,  equally  cowardly  and  malig- 
nant, who  attack  where  there  can  be  no  defense, 
and  assassinate  or  destroy  where  you  cannot 
plunder.  Shakspeare's  morality,  in  the  hands  of 
a  Reviewer,  is  to  be  read  backward,  like  a  witch's 
prayer."^ 

Be  it  said  for  the  reviewers  that  they  recognized 
when  a  controversy  had  degenerated  beneath  the 


^  Cf.  Dr.  John  Brown's  characterization  of  the  reviewers  as  "two  noto- 
rious gangs  of  monthly  and  critical  book-thieves  hackneyed  in  the  ways  of 
wickedness,  who,  in  the  rage  of  hunger  and  malice,  first  plunder,  and  then 
abuse,  maim,  or  murder,  every  honest  author  who  is  possessed  of  aught 
worth  their  carrying  off;  yet  by  skulking  among  other  vermin  in  cellars 
and  garrets,  keep  their  persons  tolerably  well  out  of  sight,  and  thus  escape 
the  hands  of  literary  justice."  An  Estimate  of  the  Manners  and  Princi- 
ples of  the  Times.   London,  1758.   Vol.  II,  p.  75. 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  263 

dignity  of  gentlemen,  and  dismissed  Ritson  and 
his  billingsgate  "without  feeling  one  spark  of  re- 
sentment." 

With  the  gentle  Malone  himself,  Ritson  was 
only  less  severe  than  with  the  reviewers.  He  under- 
took the  work  with  an  avowed  purpose  ''to  convict 
Malone,  not  to  convince  him."  And  he  would  con- 
vict him  on  the  following  counts:  with  "a  total 
want  of  ear  and  judgment";  with  ''replacing  all  the 
gross  and  palpable  blunders  of  the  first  folio";  with 
"deforming  the  text,  and  degrading  the  margin  with 
intentional  corruption,  flagrant  misrepresentation, 
malignant  hypercriticism,  and  unexampled  scur- 
rility." 

Malone  had  treated  Ritson  with  scant  respect 
in  his  edition,  referring  to  him  as  a  "shallow  or 
half-informed  remarker",  and  alluding  to  his  "pro- 
found ignorance"  and  "crude  notions".  This  Rit- 
son considered  ample  justification  for  heaping  upon 
the  editor  all  manner  of  vilification  and  abuse — 
a  course  which  he  followed  with  more  consistency 
in  this  than  in  either  of  the  earlier  pamphlets. 

In  this  controversy  Malone  had  more  at  stake 
than  the  reviewers,  and  he  did  not  give  over  the 
contest  so  readily  as  they.  A  letter  in  the  St. 
James's  Chronicle  for  March  27,  1792,  defending 
Malone,  was  probably  written  by  himself.  Maga- 
zine warfare  had  proved  disastrous  to  Ritson, 
from  the  mere  superiority  of  the  enemy's  numbers, 
if  for  no  other  reason,  and  he  prudently  refrained 
from  replying  to  this  letter.  This  article  did  not 
fully  satisfy  Malone's  purposes,  however,  and  the 


264  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

next  month  he  pubhshed  A  Letter  to  Richard  Farmer, 
relative  to  the  Edition  of  Shakspeare,  published  in 
1790,  and  some  Criticisms  on  that  Work,  in  which 
he  vindicated  his  own  care  and  industry,  but  failed 
to  establish  his  reputation  for  metrical  judgment. 
To  Ritson's  credit  let  it  be  said  that  again  he 
made  no  public  reply.  He  did,  however,  write 
boastingly  to  his  friend  Robert  Harrison,  apropos 
of  Cursory  Criticisms  and  Malone'sLe/Zer;  "I  flatter 
myself  I  have  totally  demolished  the  great  Malone. 
He  has  attempted  to  answer  it  [Cursory  Criticisms] 
by  the  most  contemptible  thing  in  nature."  But 
Ritson  was  not  always  so  sanguine  of  his  success 
in  demolishing  his  opponent.  As  in  each  preced- 
ing instance,  when  the  heat  of  the  contest  had 
passed  over,  when  his  anger  had  had  time  to  cool  in 
thoughtful  retrospection,  he  repented  his  rash  act 
and  sought  in  some  way  to  make  restitution.  To 
his  nephew,  who  followed  blindly  and  doggedly 
in  his  footsteps,  he  wrote  in  1796:  "You  will  do 
Mr.  Malone  a  great  injustice  if  you  suppose  him 
to  be  in  all  respects  what  I  may  have  endeavored 
to  represent  him  in  some.  In  order  that  he  may 
recover  your  more  favorable  opinion,  let  me  recom- 
mend to  your  perusal,  the  discussion,  in  his  Pro- 
legomena, entitled  'Shakspeare,  Ford  and  John- 
son', and  his  'Dissertation  on  the  three  parts  of 
King  Henry  Sixth'  (to  which  I  am  more  indebted 
for  an  acquaintance  with  the  manner  of  our  great 
dramatic  poet  than  to  anything  I  ever  read)." 
It  is  stated,  on  the  authority  of  his  biographer. 
Sir   Harris   Nicolas,   that   Ritson   carried   out   his 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  265 

repentance  and  made  good  his  amend  by  buying 
up  and  destroying  all  the  copies  of  Cursory  Criti- 
cisms that  remained  in  the  hands  of  his  publishers. 

These  three  slight  volumes  constitute  Ritson's 
Shakespearean  publications.  They  are  all  very 
much  alike.  Each  one  is  an  attack  upon  an  editor 
and  his  work;  the  author's  manner  is  almost  in- 
variably over-bearing,  if  not  insolent;  and  he 
exhibits  more  critical  ability  than  good  manners. 
But  the  contributions  to  Shakespeare  knowledge 
are  by  no  means  inconsiderable.  Of  these  pamph- 
lets the  first  is  the  largest  and  the  most  important. 
The  Remarks  contains  practically  all  of  the  notes 
that  were  of  real  value.  Quip  Modest  and  Cursory 
Criticisms  have  few  new  notes  and  are  mainly 
taken  up  with  a  reconsideration  of  those  already 
presented.  Some  of  them  were  decidedly  worth 
defending;  others  were  unhandsomely  revived  by 
a  sensitive  author  whose  feelings  occasionally  over- 
powered his  judgment. 

Before  considering  in  detail  Ritson's  specific 
contributions  to  Shakespearean  knowledge,  it  will 
be  well  to  understand  his  canons  of  criticism. 
''The  chief  and  fundamental  business  of  an  editor", 
he  declared  at  the  outstart,  "is  carefully  to  collate 
the  original  and  authentic  editions  of  his  author." 
Although  all  the  editors,  from  Rowe  to  Malone, 
professed  to  have  collated  the  old  editions,  Ritson 
maintained  that  no  one  of  them  had  performed 
this  task  conscientiously,  that  they  had  not  even 
compared  the  two  first  folios,  "books  indifferently 
common  and  quoted  by  everybody."       Theobald 


266  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

had  done  more  than  any  one  else  toward  a  careful 
collation  of  the  quartos  and  folios,  and  him  Ritson 
adjudged  the  best  of  the  editors.  He  quarreled 
with  Steevens  for  basing  his  text  on  the  quartos 
and  with  Malone  for  relying  on  the  first  folio. 
Some  choice  was  necessary,  he  admitted.  It  was 
the  privilege  and  the  duty  of  the  editor  to  choose 
one  old  text  as  a  basis,  but  he  ought  to  do  this 
with  a  full  and  intimate  knowledge  of  all  the 
others.  The  folios,  he  maintained,  were  more 
reliable  than  the  quartos,  and  of  the  folios  the 
second  was  superior  to  the  first.  He  went  to 
great  pains  to  assemble  parallel  passages  from 
the  folios  to  prove  that  Malone  had,  in  the  major- 
ity of  cases,  chosen  the  inferior  reading.  This 
point  he  had  little  difficulty  in  sustaining.  But  if 
Steevens  was  led  into  excesses  and  error  by  too 
close  reliance  on  the  quartos,  and  Malone  on  the 
first  folio,  Ritson,  in  his  turn,  exhibited  the  natural 
editorial  tendency  by  too  faithful  adherence  to 
his  favorite  text,  the  second  folio.  But  Ritson 
knew  both  the  quartos  and  the  folios  better  than 
most  of  his  contemporaries,  and  from  his  wider 
knowledge  was  able  to  trace  back,  with  remark- 
able precision,  variant  readings  to  their  ultimate 
sources.  He  thus  took  from  contemporary  editors 
the  honor  for  many  "proposed  emendations"  and 
exerted  a  healthful  influence  toward  more  careful 
textual  collation.  This  influence  is  especially  no- 
ticeable in  Malone,  although  his  unreasoning  preju- 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  267 

dice  against  the  second  folio  prevented  him  from 
making  his  text  as  reliable  as  it  might  have  been.^ 

Eighteenth  century  editors  generally  had  no 
exalted  conception  of  the  sacredness  of  an  author's 
text.  They  deleted,  altered,  or  enlarged  wherever 
they  thought  necessary,  and  took  no  particular 
pains  to  distinguish  their  work  from  the  original. 
With  advanced  ideas  of  editorship,  Ritson  declared 
it  his  belief  that  an  author's  text  was  his  own 
property,  sacred  and  inviolable,  and  not  to  be 
altered  in  the  slightest  save  by  his  own  hand. 
The  question  was  never,  what  should  an  author 
have  written,  but  what  did  he  write?  An  editor 
ought  never  to  feel  under  the  necessity  of  apolo- 
gizing for  his  author;  he  ought  simply  to  give  the 
text  as  he  found  it.  It  was  the  privilege  of  every 
editor  to  alter  the  text  where  he  deemed  it  neces- 
sary, but  it  was  also  his  duty  to  designate,  by 
some  means  clearly  intelligible  to  the  reader,  his 
alteration  as  an  alteration.  On  this  score  Ritson 
condemned  Warton,  the  editors  of  Shakespeare, 
and,  most  of  all.  Bishop  Percy.  Although  his 
personal  opinions  colored  his  criticism,  yet  he 
stood  true  to  the  proper  function  of  an  editor  in 
textual  matters.  Here  again  he  exerted  a  health- 
ful influence  upon  his  century  and  hastened  the 
day  of  "modern"  editing. 

These  were,  in  a  measure,  criticisms  of  Shake- 
speare's editors,   but  they  reflect  the  solid  basis 

^  Malone  assumed  an  attitude  of  nonchalance  to  Ritson,  but  he  confess- 
edly stood  in  awe  of  the  critic's  wrath,  and  he  took  special  care  to  let  it  be 
known  that  he  had  collated  diligently  the  100,000  lines  of  Shakespeare's 
text. 


268  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

of  most  of  the  notes  on  the  poet,  especially  of 
those  not  inspired  by  purely  personal  motives.  The 
majority  of  the  valuable  notes  were  acknowledged, 
however  grudgingly,  by  late  eighteenth  century 
editors,  but  Ritson  has  been  all  but  lost  sight 
of  by  modern  editors,  and  the  credit  for  many  of 
his  notes  has  gone  to  others.  Space  for  but  a 
few  notes  is  available.  Most  of  those  selected  are 
given  because  they  are  of  intrinsic  value,  a  few 
merely  because  they  are  characteristic  of  the  man 
and  the  time. 

The  problem  of  filling  out  the  metre  of  certain  of 
Shakespeare's  lines  was  a  troublesome  one  and 
gave  rise  to  various  suggestions  by  the  commenta- 
tors. To  the  theory  of  Tyrwhitt  and  Steevens 
that  Shakespeare  arbitrarily  lengthened  a  word 
in  which  /  or  r  is  subjoined  to  another  consonant, 
and  to  that  of  Malone  that  any  "short"  line  may 
properly  be  filled  out  by  making  a  dissyllable  of 
a  convenient  monosyllable,  Ritson  was  equally 
opposed.  He  immediately  diagnosed  Malone's 
case  as  a  "total  want  of  ear",  and  unmercifully 
castigated  him  for  tampering  with  metre.  ^  Tyr- 
whitt's  theory  he  ridiculed  as  lacking  foundation 
in  grammar  and  orthography.  For  it  he  wished 
to  substitute  a  pet  orthographical  system  of  his 
own — a  system  based  on  a  study  of  sixteenth 
century  grammars — which  he  fondly  believed  to 
be  the  only  salvation  for  our  present  "thoroughly 

^  Thus  anticipating  the  spirit  of  the  late  editor  of  the  New  Variorum 
Shakespeare,  when  he  said:  "With  my  latest  editorial  breath  I  will  de- 
nounce these  dissyllables  devised  to  supply  the  place  of  a  pause."  M.  N.  D. 
II,  i,  259,  note. 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  269 

corrupted"  system  of  spelling.  "Every  verb  in 
the  English  language",  he  declared,  "gains  an 
additional  syllable  by  its  termination  in  est,  eth, 
ed,  ing,  or  (when  formed  into  a  substantive)  in 
er."  The  fact  that  Shakespeare  did  not  seem  to 
have  been  guided  by  this  rule  was  sufficient  reason 
for  its  rejection  by  all  save  its  author.  Although 
silenced,  Ritson  continued  to  believe  that  Shake- 
speare should  be  read  according  to  the  rules  of 
grammar  and  orthography  which  he  had  pro- 
pounded. 

The  knowledge  of  medieval  literature,  which 
stood  him  in  such  good  stead  in  his  work  with 
the  ballads  and  romances,  Ritson  used  to  advan- 
tage in  criticisms  on  Shakespeare.  He  printed, 
for  the  first  time,  a  pageant  of  the  Nine  Worthies 
from  MS.  Tanner,  407,  in  illustration  of  L.  L.  L. 
V.  ii.  486.  His  familiarity  with  folk-lore  enabled 
him  to  correct  current  misconceptions  about  "other 
world"  creatures.  In  a  long  debate  on  the  mortal- 
ity of  fairies  (M.  A^.  D.  H.  i.  101.)  Ritson  had 
decidedly  the  better  of  his  opponents.  By  a 
wealth  of  allusion  to  Shakespeare  and  his  con- 
temporaries, he  proved  that  fairies  in  general,  and 
Shakespeare's  fairies  in  particular,  are  immortal. 
He  likewise  corrected  Johnson's  misleading  note 
on  "changeling"  (M.  N.  D.  II.  i.  23.)  by  pointing 
out  that  since  a  fairy  was  speaking,  "changeling" 
was  properly  used  for  the  child  taken  in  exchange. 

Ritson  was  a  close  and  accurate  student  of  the 
early  forms  of  language,  and  he  gave  correct  glosses 
to  many  words  that  had  been  misunderstood  by 


270  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

previous  commentators.  In  the  following  ex- 
amples, culled  at  random,  he  is  supported  by  the 
New  English  Dictionary,  but  is  not  credited  in  the 
New  Variorum. 

L.  L.  L.  I.  ii.  5.    "imp."    means    graff.    slip,  scion;  and,  by 

metonymy,  a  boy  or  child. 
Mac.  IV.  iii.  194.     "latch"  =  catch,  from  A.  S.  laeccan. 
Rich.  III.  II.  iv.  35.     "parlous",  a  corruption  of  perilous, 

dangerous. 
Ant.  and  Cleo.  III.  vi.  95.     "trull",  a  strumpet. 
Cymb.  V.  ii.  4.     "carl",  A.  S.  ceorl,  a  churl  or  husbandman. 

Ritson  honored  Dr.  Johnson  for  the  sturdy  com- 
mon sense  which  enabled  him  to  brush  away  from 
simple  passages  the  mass  of  difficult  interpreta- 
tions which  more  artificial  thinkers  had  placed 
upon  them.  But  this  saving  quality  was  not 
wholly  lacking  in  his  owm  criticisms.  The  few 
examples  which  follow  (and  they  could  be  multi- 
plied) have  been  credited,  in  the  New  Variorum,  to 
other  writers  from  Ritson's  day  down  to  the  latter 
half  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

M.  N'.  D.     II.  i.  51.     "aunt,  in  this  place  at  least,  certainly 

means  no  other  than  an  innocent  old  woman." 
M.  of  V.  III.  iv.  72.  Por.     I  could  not  do  withal. 
"Could  a  lady  of  Portia's  good  sense,  high  station,  and  elegant 

manners,  speak  (or  even  think)  so  grossly?     It  is  impossible. 

There  is  no  hint  of  a  bawdy  or  immoral  meaning." 
Lear  IV.  ii.  83,     Gon.     One  way  I  like  this  well. 
"Goneril  is  glad  to  hear  of  Cornwall's  death,  because,  by  her 

sisters,  now  rendered  less  difficult  to  compass,  she  could 

possess  the  whole  kingdom." 
R.  and  J.  II.  vi.  14.     Fri.  L.     Too  swift  arrives  as  tardy  as 

too  slow. 
"Alluding  to  the  vulgar  proverb:     The  more  haste  the  worse 

speed." 
R.  and  J.   III.   ii.    113.     Jul.     That   "banished",   that  one 

word  "banished".  Hath  slain  ten  thousand  Tybalts. 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  271 

*'I  am  more  affected  by  Romeo's  banishment  than  I  should  be 

by  the  death  of  ten  thousand  such  relations  as  Tybalt." 
Ham.  II.  ii.  185.     Ham.     Conception  is  a  blessing,  but  not 

as  your  daughter  may  conceive. 
''Conception  (understanding),  says  Hamlet,  is  a  blessing,  but 

the  conception   (pregnancy)  of  your  daughter  would  not 

be  one." 

It  must  be  recognized  that  Ritson's  forte  was 
in  the  minutiae  of  criticism.  He  had  a  knowledge 
of  details  and  an  acquaintance  with  the  sources 
of  Shakespeare  material  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  any  commentator.  He  was  not,  however, 
devoid  of  a  sympathetic  appreciation  of  Shake- 
speare's characters  or  of  each  play  as  a  whole, 
His  notes  are  interspersed  with  happy  bits  of  criti- 
cism which  reveal  a  soul  responsive  to  the  appeal 
of  poetry.  Yet  it  was  unfortunate  that  he  seemed 
to  require  the  stimulus  of  a  judgment  with  which 
he  did  not  agree  in  order  to  produce  his  own  esti- 
mate. As  a  result,  his  remarks  frequently  took 
on  the  nature  of  rebuttal,  and  because  of  their 
controversial  flavor,  their  sincerity  was  often  ques- 
tioned. The  most  brilliant  example  of  Ritson's 
ability  in  the  larger  sweep  of  interpretation  is  his 
review  of  Hamlet  in  answer  to  the  irreverent  and 
unappreciative  construction  given  by  Steevens.  It 
is  too  long  for  quotation  here,  and  must  be  left 
to  be  read  in  the  Remarks,  pp.  215-224,  or,  in  part, 
in  the  second  volume  of  the  New  Variorum  Hamlet. 

Although  Ritson's  published  volumes  place  him 
among  Grey,  Collins,  Farmer,  Tyrwhitt,  and  the 
other  authors  of  detached  pieces  of  criticism,  yet 
he  hoped  to  be  ranked  with  Theobald,  Johnson, 


272  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

Steevens,  Reed,  and  Malone  as  an  editor  of  Shake- 
speare. He  long  cherished  the  ambition  to  leave 
as  a  symbol  of  devotion  a  complete  edition  of 
"the  god  of  his  idolatry".  At  least  as  early  as 
1782  he  had  formed  the  design,  but  it  was  not 
announced  to  the  public  until  April  18,  1783.  At 
that  time  there  appeared  on  the  last  page  of  the 
Remarks  a  prospectus  for  "An  edition  of  the 
plays  of  William  Shakspeare,  with  notes,  preparing 
for  the  press.''  The  edition  w^as  to  comprise  eight 
duodecimo  volumes;  the  text  was  to  be  "carefully 
and  accurately  printed  from  the  only  copies  of 
real  authority,  the  two  first  folios",  with  pains- 
taking collation  of  the  old  quartos  and  an  accurate 
statement  of  all  variations  adopted;  doubtful  read- 
ings were  to  be  settled  "from  an  attentive  exami- 
nation of  the  sentiments  of  every  commentator"; 
notes  were  to  be  introduced  only  where  they  seemed 
absolutely  necessary;  the  author's  life  and  the 
prefaces  of  his  various  editors  were  to  be  prefixed, 
and  an  accurate  glossary  added;  and  an  extra 
volume  was  to  contain  "a  complete  verbal  index." 
This  edition  was  to  be,  with  regard  to  the  correct- 
ness of  the  text,  "infinitely  superior  to  any  that 
has  yet  appeared";  it  was  to  possess  all  "the 
advantages  of  every  former  edition,  and  be  as 
little  liable  as  possible  to  the  defects  of  any." 

Coming  as  it  did  upon  the  heels  of  his  captious 
attack  upon  Johnson  and  Steevens,  this  announce- 
ment appeared  as  a  challenge  to  Shakespeare 
scholars.  But  had  Ritson  had  the  hardihood  to 
publish  at  this  time,  he  could  not  have  met  with 


RITSON    ON    SHAKESPEARE  273 

success.  When  such  a  brilliant  galaxy  of  com- 
mentators and  editors  as  Johnson,  Steevens,  Tyr- 
whitt,  Farmer,  Reed,  and  Malone  possessed  the 
ear  of  the  booksellers  and  the  confidence  of  the 
pubUc,  an  edition  of  Shakespeare  by  an  antiquary 
who  was  minutely  accurate  in  details,  who  held 
advanced  notions  of  the  functions  of  an  editor 
and  critic,  who  was  uncompromising  in  praise  and 
blame  alike,  who  was,  above  all,  pugnacious  and 
controversial, — an  edition  by  such  an  one  would 
have  met  with  scant  approval  in  most  quarters  and 
with  open  rejection  in  many.  Ritson  sensed  the 
situation  accurately.  On  February  1,  1788,  in  the 
preface  to  Quip  Modest,  he  replied  thus  to  the 
enquiries  that  had  been  made  concerning  his  edi- 
tion: ''In  truth,  the  attention  requisite  to  the 
publication  of  so  voluminous  a  work,  and  the 
little  likelihood  there  is  of  its  being  productive  to 
the  undertaker  of  anything  but  trouble  and  ex- 
pense, together  with  other  causes  of  less  conse- 
quence, have  hitherto  deterred  me  from  putting 
it  to  press.  But  I  have  neither  laid  aside  all 
thoughts  of  bringing  it  forward,  nor  can  I  pledge 
myself  to  produce  it  in  any  given  time.  I  have 
little  reason  to  suppose  that  the  Public  interests 
itself  at  all  in  the  matter,  and  therefore  think 
myself  at  full  liberty  to  suit  my  own  inclination 
and  convenience." 

Following  this  pronunciamento  he  made  enough 
effort  to  put  two  pages  of  Comedy  of  Errors  to  the 
press.  Here  the  matter  rested,  although  it  is 
certain  that  he  did  not  for  some  years  give  up  his 

S— 18. 


274  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

notion  of  eventually  perfecting  his  edition,  and 
perhaps  never  entirely  relinquished  it.  To  the 
indifference  of  the  public,  which  he  felt  keenly, 
was  soon  added  physical  illness  which  materially 
lessened  the  amount  of  his  literary  labor.  In 
the  middle  of  1790  he  wrote  to  Joseph  Cooper 
Walker,  the  Irish  antiquary:  "I  know  not  whether 
I  shall  ever  have  resolution  enough  to  put  an 
edition  of  this  favorite  author  into  the  press,  as  the 
public  will  for  some  time  be  completely  glutted 
with  editions  of  one  kind  or  another."  Two  years 
later  he  was  still  gathering  material  and  declared 
that  he  had  yet  ''some  intention  of  printing  an 
edition  of  Shakspeare." 

Indeed  he  was,  throughout  life,  making  notes, 
exchanging  suggestions  with  friends,  and  amassing 
material  for  an  edition  of  the  dramatist.  Although 
only  the  three  pamphlets  already  reviewed  were 
published,  yet  much  more  was  prepared.  The 
catalogue  of  the  sale  of  Ritson's  library  records 
the  ten  volumes  of  the  Johnson  and  Steevens 
Shakspeare  and  the  four  volumes  of  Shakspeare' s 
Twenty  Plays,  by  Steevens,  as  "filled  with  MS. 
notes  and  comments  by  Mr.  Ritson."  In  addi- 
tion, there  were  three  volumes  of  manuscript  ma- 
terial "prepared  by  Mr.  Ritson  for  the  press,  in- 
tending to  publish  it." 

With  the  exception  of  twenty-three  pages  of 
variant  readings,^  all  this  material — the  painstak- 


^  These  pages,  now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Marsden  J.  Perry,  of  Provi- 
dence, contain  159  parallel  passages  from  the  two  first  folios.  Seventeen 
of  them  were  printed  in  the  Introduction  to  Cursory  Criticisms. 


•^fcAMB    !»»*  SHAKESPEARE  275 

ing  accumulation  of  a  lifetime — has  disappeared 
from  view.  Had  he  published  his  material  in  final 
form,  Ritson's  edition  of  Shakespeare  would  un- 
doubtedly have  compared  favorably  with  any  of 
his  century.  He  had  a  knowledge  of  the  quartos 
and  folios  not  surpassed  by  any  of  his  contempo- 
raries, and  a  capacity  for  taking  pains  not  equalled 
by  any.  He  had  a  better  ear  than  Malone,  more 
reverence  for  his  author  than  Steevens,  and  a  finer 
critical  insight  than  Reed.^  He  would  have  laid 
under  tribute  a  vast  knowledge  of  medieval  litera- 
ture and  a  wide  acquaintance  with  the  English 
language  in  its  early  forms.  His  glossary  and 
verbal  index  would  probably  have  been  the  most 
valuable  parts  of  his  edition,  for  he  had  long  com- 
plained of  Ayscough's  Index,  and  he  had  con- 
sistently corrected  the  glosses  of  previous  editions. 
The  most  likely  fault  of  his  work  would  have  been 
the  outcropping  of  the  acidity  of  his  nature  in  per- 
sonal abuse  of  fellow  editors.  But  this  is  specula- 
tion. Unless  the  lost  manuscripts  are  by  good 
fortune  discovered,  Ritson's  fame  as  a  Shakespeare 
commentator  must  rest  upon  the  Remarks,  Quip 
Modest,  and  Cursory  Criticisms.  Making  due  al- 
lowance for  an  unhappy  manner,  this  reputation 
is  by  no  means  the  least  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


^  William  Henry  Ireland,  in  his  Confessions,  p.  227,  paid  eloquent  tribute 
to  "the  piercing  eye  and  silent  scrutiny  of  Mr.  Ritson,"  who  was  not  to  be 
hoodwinked  by  the  spurious  Shakespeare  papers  on  display  in  Norfolk 
street. 


CHARLES   LAMB   AND    SHAKESPEARE 
By  Frederick  W.  Roe. 


One  of  Lamb's  school  fellows  at  Christ's  Hospital, 
Valentine  Le  Grice,  in  some  reminiscences  con- 
tributed in  1838  to  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  said 
of  his  friend's  humor  that  "it  smacked  rarely  of 
antiquity;  he  loved  the  old  playwrights  dearly, 
and  the  name  of  Bankside".  To  speak  with  exact- 
ness Lamb  did  not  belong  to  his  own  time.  His 
true  coevals  were  the  men  "of  antiquity", — Shakes- 
peare and  Ford,  Browne  and  Burton.  "When  a 
new  book  comes  out",  said  he,  "I  read  an  old  one". 
His  book-shelves  were  carefully  guarded  against 
the  invasion  of  new-comers  by  rows  of  "ragged 
veterans"  belonging  to  a  former  age, — "my  mid- 
night darlings,  my  folios",  he  called  them,  with  all 
the  ecstasy  of  a  bibliophile.  Isaac  Walton  was 
the  delight  of  his  childhood;  and  his  last  letter, 
written  less  than  a  week  before  his  death,  has  to 
do  with  a  book  that  he  had  recently  borrowed 
and  that  was  returned  after  he  had  died  "with 
the  leaf  folded  down  at  the  account  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney".  "The  sweetest  names,  and  which  carry 
a  perfume  in  the  mention",  he  wrote  in  a  well- 
remembered  essay,  "are  Kit  Marlowe,  Drayton, 
Drummond  of  Hawthornden,  and  Cowley".     "He 

[276] 


LAMB    AND    SHAKESPEARE  277 

would  deliver  critical  touches  on  these  (the  old 
writers)  like  one  inspired",  declared  Wainewright, 
one  of  Lamb's  co-contributors  to  the  London 
Magazine,  for  which  the  essays  of  Elia  were  written. 
Among  these  old  time  favorites  whom  he  wor- 
shipped, his  household  gods  were  the  dramatists. 
His  devotion  to  them  was  the  literary  passion  of 
a  life-time,  much  intensified  by  an  inveterate 
delight  in  the  theatre.  For  who  has  written  of 
actors  and  acting  with  more  charm  and  intimacy 
than  Elia?  Who,  with  more  intuitive  apprecia- 
tion of  the  art  of  the  stage?  "I  was  always  fond 
of  the  society  of  players",  he  writes  in  Barbara 
S ,  "and  am  not  sure  that  an  impedi- 
ment in  my  speech  (which  certainly  kept  me  out 
of  the  pulpit)  even  more  than  certain  personal 
disqualifications,  which  are  often  got  over  in  that 
profession,  did  not  prevent  me  at  one  time  of  life 
from  adopting  it".  A  fine  instance  of  Lamb's 
early  saturation  with  the  old  playwrights  is  his 
tragedy  John  Wooduil,  written  before  he  was 
twenty-five.  It  is  deliberately  Elizabethan,  and 
is  rich  in  the  diction  and  cadence  of  the  drama  of 
that  glowing  time.  Those  who  have  read  it  will 
remember  Hazlitt's  story  of  how  Godwin,  hear- 
ing a  friend  quote  the  passage  beginning  with  the 
lines, 

"To  see  the  sun  to  bed,  and  to  arise, 

Like  some  hot  amourist  with  glowing  eyes", — 

was  so  struck  with  its  beauty  and  "with  a  con- 
sciousness of  having  seen  it  before",  that  after  a 


278  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

vain  hunt  for  it  in  Jonson,  and  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher,  he  asked  Lamb  if  ''he  could  help  him  to 
the  author".  It  was  not  until  the  publication  of 
his  Specimens  of  English  Dramatic  Poets,  in  1808, 
however,  that  his  reputation  as  a  student  and 
critic  of  the  elder  drama  was  established.  He 
was  justly  proud  of  what  this  book  accomplished, 
and  in  1827  when  he  wrote  a  brief  autobiographical 
record  at  the  request  of  a  friend,  he  concluded 
with  the  words:  "He  also  was  the  first  to  draw 
the  public  attention  to  the  old  English  Dramatists". 
Nor  was  his  love  the  passion  of  youth  alone,  for 
in  1826,  the  year  following  his  retirement  from 
the  clerkship  at  the  India  House  he  began  to  make 
extracts  from  the  Garrick  collection  of  plays  at 
the  British  Museum,  for  Hone's  Table  Book,  and 
he  read  hundreds  of  old  dramas  with  undiminished 
appetite.  "Imagine  the  luxury",  he  writes  in  his 
prefatorial  letter  to  Editor  Hone,  "to  one  like  me, 
who,  above  every  other  form  of  Poetry,  have  ever 
preferred  the  Dramatic,  of  sitting  in  the  princely 
apartments, — and  culling  at  will  the  flower  of 
some  thousand  Dramas." 

But  Lamb  could  not  have  loved  "these  bounti- 
ful Wits"  of  the  Shakespearean  age  so  much,  if 
he  had  not  loved  Shakespeare  more.  One  of  his 
purposes  in  collecting  the  'Specimens,'  he  declared, 
was  to  show  "how  much  of  Shakespeare  shines 
in  the  great  men  his  contemporaries,  and  how 
far  in  his  divine  mind  and  manners  he  surpassed 
them  and  all  mankind".  Whim,  or  love  of  para- 
dox, or  transient  conviction  might  sometimes  pro- 


LAMB    AND    SHAKESPEARE  279 

voke  him  to  pronounce  in  favor  of  Browne,  Fuller, 
Sidney,  or  the  Duchess  of  Newcastle  as  against 
even  Shakespeare,  for  he  cherished  no  literary 
consistencies  and  defended  no  dogmas;  but  who 
that  has  read  his  Elia  will  deny  that  the  poet  whom 
he  knew  best,  quoted  oftenest,  cared  most  for, 
and  wrote  best  about  was  the  master-dramatist 
himself?  "The  plays  of  Shakespeare",  he  said, 
"have  been  the  strongest  and  the  sweetest  food 
of  my  mind  from  infancy".  "Shakespeare  is  one 
of  the  last  books  one  should  like  to  give  up",  he 
wrote  to  Wordsworth,  "perhaps  the  one  just 
before  the  Dying  Service  in  a  large  Prayer  Book". 
There  is  little  of  his  prose  that  does  not  carry 
with  it  some  image  or  reminiscence,  however  faint, 
from  this  or  that  well-loved  play.  The  Tales,  in 
which  Lamb  deliberately  adapted  the  language 
of  their  originals,  are  miracles  of  old  felicitous 
diction  and  Shakespearean  cadence.  The  Essays, 
besides  the  frequent  happy  quotations  and  direct 
borrowings,  are  full  of  remoter  suggestions, — some 
quaint  phrase  or  grave  sentiment, — as  though  the 
music  of  Shakespeare's  words  and  thoughts  were 
forever  vibrating  in  his  memory!^  Certain  names, 
even,  seem  to  have  exercised  a  kind  of  charm  such 
as  other  men  do  not,  or  cannot,  feel!     The  Forest 

^  In  the  Essays  and  Last  Essays  there  are  allusions  or  quotations  from 
twenty-seven  different  plays  (reckoning  largely  on  the  basis  of  Mr.  Lucas's 
annotations).  These  are  found  in  thirty-eight  out  of  fifty-one  essays; 
that  is  to  say,  they  are  distributed  through  almost  exactly  three-fourths 
of  the  total  number.  These  figures  alone,  however,  do  not  signify  much. 
My  impression  (I  have  made  no  estimates)  is  that  Hazlitt  alludes  to  or 
quotes  from  Shakespeare  at  least  as  often  as  Lamb:  so,  too,  does  Ruskin, 
to  cite  a  later  example.  But  do  the  writings  of  these  men  suggest  the 
same  intimacy  with  Shakespeare  that  those  of  Lamb  do? 


280  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

of  Arden,  the  Court  of  Illyria,  the  haunted  heath 
of  the  Witches,  or  the  storm-swept  waste  of  Lear 
were  potent  of  themselves  to  transport  him  from 
the  drudgery  and  sorrow  of  a  too-real  world!  The 
spirit  in  which  Lamb  seems  always  to  have  re- 
garded his  Shakespeare  and  by  means  of  which 
he  came  to  possess  that  "modest  Shakespearean 
wisdom",  which  Leigh  Hunt  thought  to  be  the 
essential  charm  of  his  nature,  is  nowhere  else  so 
well  suggested  as  in  the  closing  sentence  of  the 
preface  to  the  Tales:  "What  these  Tales  have  been 
to  you  in  childhood,  that  and  much  more  it  is 
my  wish  that  the  true  plays  of  Shakespeare  may 
prove  to  you  in  older  years — enrichers  of  the 
fancy,  strengtheners  of  virtue,  a  withdrawing  from 
all  selfish  and  mercenary  thoughts,  a  lesson  of 
all  sweet  and  honourable  thoughts  and  actions, 
to  teach  you  courtesy,  generosity,  humanity:  for 
of  examples,  teaching  these  virtues,  his  pages  are 
full". 

The  fruit  of  this  exquisite  spirit  of  appreciation, 
however  fine  and  rare  in  quality,  is  unfortunately 
not  abundant.  "The  damn'd  Day-hag  Business" 
allowed  but  brief  intervals  through  a  life-time  for 
its  cultivation.  "A  prisoner  to  the  desk"  for  thirty 
and  more  years.  Lamb  was — to  use  his  own  phrase 
— "an  author  by  fits".  There  are,  first,  the  Tales 
from  Shakespeare  (1807),  forever  associated  with  the 
names  of  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb,  of  which,  as  he 
tells  Wordsworth,  he  is  responsible  for  "Lear, 
Macbeth,  Timon,  Romeo,  Hamlet,  Othello,  and 
for  occasionally  a  tail  piece  or  correction  of  gram- 


LAMB    AND    SHAKESPEARE  281 

mar,  for  none  of  the  cuts  and  all  of  the  spelling". 
The  mature  reader  of  Shakespeare  who  returns 
to  these  incomparable  companions  of  childhood 
is  delighted  to  find  in  them  so  many  proofs  of 
Lamb's  insight  and  sound  judgment.  There  are, 
next,  the  Specimens  (1808),  with  their  brief, 
luminous  notes  containing  here  and  there  a  refer- 
ence to  Shakespeare  by  way  of  comparison  or 
contrast.  There  are,  also,  three  or  four  essays  of 
importance  on  actors  and  acting — chiefly  Old 
Actors  (1822)  and  G.  F.  Cooke  in  Richard  III 
(1802).  And  finally  there  is  the  splendid  contri- 
bution to  Leigh  Hunt's  Reflector,  On  the  Tragedies 
of  Shakespeare  (1812), — one  of  the  pieces  that 
belongs  to  the  poetry  of  criticism. 

To  try  to  dignify  these  things  by  calling  them 
a  body  of  criticism  or  by  suggesting  that  they 
reflect  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  critic  to  esti- 
mate Shakespeare  constructively  would  be  absurd. 
Lamb  was  not  qualified  either  by  knowledge  or 
by  temper  for  such  work.  Nowhere  does  he  so 
much  as  hint  at  an  interest  in  the  problems  of 
Shakespearean  scholarship, — problems  of  date, 
authorship,  dramatic  construction,  and  text.  "You 
must  be  content",  he  says  in  his  prefatorial  letter 
to  Editor  Hone,  writing  of  the  extracts  from  the 
Garrick  plays,  "with  sometimes  a  scene,  some- 
times a  song;  a  speech  or  a  passage,  or  a  poetical 
image,  as  they  happen  to  strike  me.  I  read  without 
order  of  time;  I  am  a  poor  hand  at  dates;  and 
for  any  biography  of  the  Dramatists,  I  must 
refer  to  writers  who  are  more  skilful  in  such  mat- 


282  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

ters.  My  business  is  with  their  poetry  only". 
He  read  his  Shakespeare,  as  he  read  his  Sidney, 
for  "the  noble  images,  passions,  sentiments,  and 
poetical  delicacies  of  character".  Some  of  Lamb's 
best  appreciations,  therefore,  are  incidental  or 
almost  casual,  as,  for  example,  the  following  de- 
scriptions of  actors:  Kemble, — "the  playful  court- 
bred  spirit  in  which  he  condescended  to  the  players 
in  Hamlef\ — "the  sportive  relief  which  he  threw 
into  the  darker  shades"  of  Richard  III;  Palmer 
in  Sir  Toby, — "there  is  a  solidity  of  wit  in  the 
jests  of  that  half-Falstaff  which  he  did  not  quite 
fill  out".  Or,  again,  in  the  noble  closing  to  the 
tale  of  Timon:  "Whether  he  finished  his  life  by 
violence,  or  whether  mere  distaste  of  life  and  the 
loathing  he  had  for  mankind  brought  Timon  to 
his  conclusion,  was  not  clear,  yet  all  men  admired 
the  fitness  of  his  epitaph,  and  the  consistency 
of  his  end;  dying,  as  he  had  lived,  a  hater  of  man- 
kind: and  some  there  were  who  fancied  a  conceit 
in  the  very  choice  which  he  had  made  of  the 
sea-beach  for  his  place  of  burial,  where  the  vast 
sea  might  weep  for  ever  upon  his  grave,  as  in  con- 
tempt of  the  transient  and  shallow  tears  of  hypo- 
critical and  deceitful  mankind."  It  was  a  con- 
cluding sentence  from  another  tale,  Romeo  and 
Juliet, — "So  did  these  poor  old  lords,  when  it 
was  too  late,  strive  to  outgo  each  other  in  mutual 
courtesies", — that  evoked  from  Canon  Ainger,  for 
so  many  years  the  foremost  editor  and  biographer 
of  Elia,  the  enthusiastic  comment:  "The  melan- 
choly  of  the  whole  story — the   'pity  of  it,' — the 


LAMB    AND    SHAKESPEARE  283 

'one  long  sigh'  which  Schlegel  heard  in  it,  is  con- 
veyed with  an  almost  magic  suddenness  in  this 
single  touch;  with  yet  one  touch  more,  and  that 
of  priceless  importance — the  suggestion  of  the 
whole  world  of  misery  and  disorder  that  may  lie 
hidden  as  an  awful  possibility  in  the  tempers  and 
vanities  of  even  two  'poor  old'  heads  of  houses". 
Again:  "Who  sees  not  that  the  Grave-digger  in 
Hamlet,  the  Fool  in  Lear,  have  a  kind  of  corres- 
pondency to,  and  fall  in  with,  the  subjects  which 
they  seem  to  interrupt?"  And  finally  a  passage 
in  the  essay  on  the  Sanity  of  True  Genius:  "It  is 
impossible  for  a  mind  to  conceive  of  a  mad  Shake- 
speare   Where  he  seems  most  to  recede  from 

humanity,  he  will  be  found  truest  to  it.  From 
beyond  the  scope  of  Nature  if  he  summon  possible 
existences,  he  subjugates  them  to  the  laws  of  her 
consistency.  .  .  Caliban,  the  Witches,  are  as  true 
to  the  laws  of  their  own  nature  (ours  with  a  dif- 
ference), as  Othello,  Hamlet,  and  Macbeth".  It 
is  the  sympathy  and  insight  conveyed  in  such  pass- 
ages as  these,  supported  by  a  sturdy  independence 
of  judgment,  rather  than  any  professional  expert- 
ness,  that  has  placed  Lamb  securely  in  the  select 
company  of  Shakespeare's  best  critics.  Hazlitt, 
who  dedicated  his  Characters  of  Shakespeare's  Plays 
to  Lamb,  and  who  pays  him  the  tribute  of  frequent 
quotation,  thought  that  "he  had  written  better 
about  Shakespeare  ....  than  anybody  else".  Swin- 
burne, with  characteristic  exuberance  of  superla- 
tive, calls  Lamb  "the  most  supremely  competent 
judge  and  exquisite  critic  of  lyrical  and  dramatic 


284  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

art  that  we  have  ever  had".  And  Professor  Brad- 
ley who  refers  to  him  several  times,  begins  a  sen- 
tence in  one  of  his  lectures  on  Lear  with  these 
words:  "Lamb — there  is  no  higher  authority". 

Probably  no  judgment  of  Lamb's  is  better  known 
than  the  one  which  forms  the  subject  of  the  only 
deliberately  critical  study  of  Shakespeare  that  he 
ever  wrote, — the  opinion  in  the  essay  on  the  *  Trag- 
edies', that  "the  plays  of  Shakespeare  are  less  cal- 
culated for  performance  on  a  stage,  than  those  of 
almost  any  other  dramatist  whatever".  What  an 
astonishing  paradox  from  a  veteran  play-goer,  who 
seems  never  to  have  missed  a  first-night,  in  the 
days  when  Shakespearean  parts  were  played  by 
Kemble,  the  Keans,  and  Mrs.  Siddons!  But  let 
him  be  heard  further:  "Such  is  the  instantaneous 
nature  of  the  impressions  which  we  take  in  at  the 
eye  and  ear  at  a  play-house,  compared  with  the 
slow  apprehension  oftentimes  of  the  understand- 
ing in  reading,  that  we  are  apt  not  only  to  sink 
the  play-writer  in  the  consideration  which  we  pay 
to  the  actor,  but  even  to  identify  in  our  minds  in  a 
perverse  manner,  the  actor  with  the  character 
which  he  represents  ....  When  the  novelty  is  past, 
we  fmd  to  our  cost  that  instead  of  realizing  an 
idea,  we  have  only  materialized  and  brought  down 
a  fme  vision  to  the  standards  of  flesh  and  blood. 
We  have  let  go  a  dream,  in  quest  of  an  unattain- 
able substance  ....  All  those  delicacies  which  are 
so  delightful  in  the  reading  .  .  .  .  how  are  these  things 
sullied  and  turned  from  their  very  nature  by  being 
exposed    to    a    large    assembly   ....    Attempt    to 


LAMB    AND    SHAKESPEARE  285 

bring  these  beings  [the  Witches]  on  to  a  stage, 
and  you  turn  them  instantly  into  so  many  old 
women,  that  men  and  children  are  to  laugh  at  ...  . 
It  is  the  solitary  taper  and  the  book  that  generates 

a  faith  in  these  terrors Spirits  and  fairies 

cannot  be  represented,  they  cannot  even  be  paint- 
ed,— they  can  only  be  believed  ....  The  truth 
is,  the  characters  of  Shakespeare  are  so  much  the 
objects  of  meditation  rather  than  of  interest  or 
curiosity  as  to  their  action,  that  while  we  are 
reading  any  of  his  great  criminal  characters, — 
Macbeth,  Richard,  or  lago, — we  think  not  so  much 
of  the  crimes  which  they  commit,  as  of  the  ambi- 
tion, the  aspiring  spirit,  the  intellectual  activity, 
which  prompts  them  to  overleap  those  moral 
fences".  If  these  brilliant  sentences  are  paradoxical, 
they  are  neither  absurd  nor  insincere;  nor,  be  it 
said,  do  they  advance  a  position  held  by  Lamb 
alone  among  good  judges. 

His  objections  to  the  acted  drama  of  Shake- 
speare are  two :  that  actors  and  the  stage  come  be- 
tween us  and  our  ideals  of  the  tragedy,  grossly 
materializing  them;  and  that  Shakespeare's  con- 
ceptions are  really  beyond  the  reach  of  the  actor's 
art.  Lamb  cannot  overlook  the  difference  between 
the  tragedy  as  poetry  and  the  tragedy  as  a  play. 
All  the  rhetoric  and  the  declamation  (of  which 
there  was  much  in  his  day),  all  the  stage-business 
and  by-play,  all  the  "scenery,  dress,  the  most  con- 
temptible things",  only  take  away  Shakespeare's 
pre-eminence  and  bring  him  down  to  the  level 
of  ordinary  playwrights.     To  persons  of  Lamb's 


286  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

susceptible  imagination,  moreover,  the  material- 
ization upon  the  stage  of  certain  scenes  is  too 
painful  to  endure;  such,  for  example,  as  the  mur- 
der scene  in  Macbeth  or  the  storm  scene  in  Lear, 
where  there  is  a  "too  close  pressing  semblance 
of  reality".  He  is,  of  course,  indifferent  to  matters 
that  were  of  first  importance  to  Shakespeare, 
who  wrote  for  the  stage  and  whose  immediate 
success  depended  tremendously  upon  his  power 
as  a  dramatist  and  hardly  at  all  upon  his  power  as 
a  poet.  In  the  unfolding  of  plot  and  sub-plot, 
in  the  action  (as  distinguished  from  the  motive 
and  the  result  of  action),  in  countless  superb  stage 
effects, — openings,  crises,  surprises,  sequences, — 
Lamb  seems  to  have  no  interest  to  be  compared 
with  his  interest  in  the  tragedies  regarded  as 
poetry.  A  tragedy  of  Shakespeare  is  a  "fme  vis- 
ion", with  innumerable  solemn  overtones  audible 
to  the  inner  ear  only.  It  cannot  be  justly  appre- 
ciated on  the  stage,  where  the  senses  usurp  the 
place  of  the  imagination;  it  is  to  be  reserved  for 
the  quiet  hour  and  the  "solitary  taper",  when  the 
imagination  by  triumphing  over  the  senses  may 
prepare  the  soul  for  the  full  effect  of  sublime 
poetry.  1 


^  Lamb  declared  at  the  end  of  his  essay  that  "it  would  be  no  very  diffi- 
cult task  to  extend  the  inquiry  to  his  comedies;  and  to  show  why  Falstaff, 
Shallow,  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  Und  the  rest,  are  equally  incompatible  with 
stage  representation".  It  is  a  loss  to  criticism  that  he  did  not  undertake 
an  essay  on  the  comedies,  for  he  would  have  written  inimitably  on  the 
great  comic  characters  of  Shakespeare.  But  could  he  have  made  his  case 
anything  like  as  convincing?  Even  first-rate  acting  takes  something  from 
great  tragedy,  whereas  it  nearly  always  adds  to  the  effect  of  comedy. 


LAMB    AND    SHAKESPEARE  289 

spirit  of  Shakespeare  is  conveyed  in  the  account  of 
Dicky  Suett,  who  played  the  clown  parts! — "Care, 
that  troubles  all  the  world,  was  forgotten  in  his 
composition.  Had  he  had  but  two  grains  (nay, 
half  a  grain)  of  it,  he  could  never  have  supported 
himself  upon  those  two  spider's  strings,  which 
served  him  (in  the  latter  part  of  his  unmixed  exist- 
ence) as  legs.  A  doubt  or  a  scruple  must  have 
made  him  totter,  a  sigh  have  puffed  him  down; 
the  weight  of  a  frown  had  staggered  him,  a  wrinkle 
made  him  lose  his  balance.  But  on  he  went, 
scrambling  upon  those  airy  stilts  of  his,  with 
Robin  Goodfellow,  'thorough  brake,  thorough 
briar',  reckless  of  a  scratched  face  or  a  torn  doublet. 
Shakespeare  foresaw  him,  when  he  framed  his  fools 
and  jesters.  They  have  all  the  true  Suett  stamp, 
a  loose  and  shambling  gait,  a  slippery  tongue, 
this  last  the  ready  midwife  to  a  without-pain- 
delivered  jest;  in  words,  light  as  air,  venting  truths 
deep  as  the  centre;  with  idlest  rhymes  tagging 
conceit  when  busiest,  singing  with  Lear  in  the 
tempest,  or  Sir  Toby  at  the  buttery-hatch". 

Clearly  we  should  have  had  from  Lamb  that 
essay  on  the  comic  characters  of  Shakespeare, 
which  he  thought  it  would  have  been  "no  very 
difficult  task  to  write".  Nevertheless  the  serious 
mood  was  the  prevailing  one,  and  interest  in  the 
tragedies  undoubtedly  was  first.  He  saw  George 
Frederick  Cooke  in  Richard  III,  on  his  first  ap- 
pearance in  that  character  in  1801,  and  wrote  an 
account  of  his  impressions  in  the  Morning  Post 
in  a  paper  which  he  did  not  re-publish.     But  he 

S-19. 


290  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

refers  to  Cooke's  Richard  later  in  the  Tragedies, 
and  again  in  a  letter  to  Southey.  All  three  ac- 
counts agree.  Cooke  appeared  in  the  famous  Cib- 
ber  version  of  Richard,  which  held  the  stage  from 
1700  to  1821,  when  Macready  made  an  unsuccess- 
ful attempt  to  restore  the  original  to  the  boards. 
In  this  stage  version,  especially  as  rendered  by 
Cooke,  the  physical  and  moral  deformities  of  the 
character  are  accentuated  much  beyond  Shake- 
speare's intention,  and  the  king  is  made  a  monster 
instead  of  a  man.  Lamb  is  the  first  critic  of  note 
to  protest  against  such  a  rendering  of  the  part 
— Hazlitt  following  some  sixteen  years  later.  ^ 
The  protest  is  really  a  vigorous  condemnation 
of  the  traditional  eighteenth  century  view.  "The 
hypocrisy",  he  says,  "is  too  glaring  and  visible  .... 
You  despise,  detest,  and  loathe  the  cunning,  vul- 
gar, low  and  fierce  Richard  which  Cooke  substi- 
tutes ....  Not  one  of  the  spectators  who  have 
witnessed  Mr.  C's  exertions  in  that  part,  but 
has  come  away  with  a  proper  conviction  that 
Richard  is  a  very  wicked  man,  and  kills  little 
children  in  their  beds  ....  Is  not  the  original 
Richard  a  very  different  being?  Is  this  the  im- 
pression we  have  in  reading  the  Richard  of  Shake- 
speare? Do  we  feel  anything  like  disgust,  as  we 
do  at  that  butcher-like  representation  of  him  that 
passes   for   him   on   the   stage?     A   horror   at    his 


^  Hazlitt  says:  "Some  of  the  most  important  and  striking  passages  in 
the  principal  character  have  been  omitted,  to  make  room  for  idle  and 
misplaced  extracts  from  other  plays;  the  only  intention  of  which  seems  to 
have  been  to  make  the  character  of  Richard  as  odious  and  disgusting  as 
possible". 


LAMB    AND    SHAKESPEARE  295 

his  uncle  upon  his  guard,  if  he  suspected  that  he 
was  meditating  any  thing  against  him,  or  that 
Hamlet  really  knew  more  of  his  father's  death 
than  he  professed,  took  up  a  strange  resolution 
from  that  time  to  counterfeit  as  if  he  were  really 
and  truly  mad;  thinking  that  he  would  be  less 
an  object  of  suspicion  when  his  uncle  should  be- 
lieve him  incapable  of  ^ny  serious  project,  and  that 
his  real  perturbation  of  mind  would  be  best  cov- 
ered and  pass  concealed  under  a  disguise  of  pre- 
tended lunacy." 

The  third  of  the  problems  is  the  crux  of  the 
tragedy, — the  cause  of  Hamlet's  indecision  and 
delay.  The  theory  that  held  the  field  for  upwards 
of  a  century  is  the  Schlegel-Coleridge  theory,  best 
stated  by  Hazlitt:  Hamlet's  "ruling  passion",  he 
says,  "is  to  think,  not  to  act".  Then  came  Pro- 
fessor Bradley  in  1904  with  a  brilliant  and  con- 
vincing refutation  of  this  theory,  and  with  another 
theory  of  his  own  which  has  been  favorably  re- 
ceived everywhere,  by  reason  of  its  extraordinary 
insight  into  the  character  of  Hamlet.  The  cause 
of  Hamlet's  irresolution  and  procrastination,  he 
says,  is  an  abnormal  state  of  melancholy,  "in- 
duced by  special  circumstances",  in  a  mind  al- 
ready of  "exquisite  moral  sensibility",  "intellectual 
genius",  and  a  special  temperament.  If  the  reader 
will  now  turn  to  Lamb's  story  of  Hamlet  in  the 
Tales,  published  almost  exactly  a  century  before, 
he  will  fmd  there  the  essentials  of  Professor  Brad- 
ley's interpretation, — without,  of  course,  Professor 
Bradley's  fullness  of  analysis.     Before  the   mur- 


296  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

der  Hamlet  is  assumed  to  have  been  normal; 
after  it,  his  refined  and  courtly  nature  was  tor- 
mented by  grief,  shame,  and  suspicion,  until  it 
**was  overclouded  with  a  deep  melancholy"  and 
world-weariness.  ''His  very  melancholy,  and  the 
dejection  of  spirits  he  had  so  long  been  in,  pro- 
duced an  irresoluteness  and  wavering  of  purpose, 
which  kept  him  from  proceeding  to  extremities". 
Nothing  that  Lamb  has  written  more  surely 
authenticates  his  genius  for  criticism  than  these 
quiet  lucid  sentences  in  a  narrative  intended  for 
children. 

But  the  place  of  honor  belongs  to  the  splendid 
appreciation  of  Lear.^  In  its  original  form  this 
tragedy  is  to  Lamb  "the  most  stupendous  of  the 
Shakespearean  dramas",  and  the  character  of 
Kent  "the  noblest  pattern  of  virtue  which  even 
Shakespeare  has  conceived".  Cordelia's  "good 
deeds",  he  says,  "did  seem  to  deserve  a  more  fortu- 
nate conclusion:  but  it  is  an  awful  truth,  that 
innocence  and  piety  are  not  always  successful  in 
this  world".  To  change  all  this,  as  Tate  did  in 
his  notorious  version  which  held  the  stage  from 

^  I  pass  by  Othello,  because  there  is  little  direct  criticism  except  upon 
one  matter, — Desdemona's  marriage  to  a  black.  Professor  Bradley,  after 
making  the  point  that  Lamb,  though  he  goes  ahead  of  Coleridge  in  accept- 
ing a  black  Othello,  yet  appears  to  think  Desdemona  "to  stand  in  need 
of  excuse",  when  he  says  that  "this  noble  lady, — with  a  singularity  rather 
to  be  admired  than  imitated,  had  chosen  for  the  object  of  her  affections 
a  Moor,  a  black", — Professor  Bradley  asks:  "What  is  there  in  the 
play  to  show  that  Shakespeare  regarded  her  marriage  differently  from 
Imogen's?"  There  is  enough  in  the  drama  to  indicate  that  Shakespeare 
regarded  Desdemona's  marriage  as  so  unusual  as  to  stand  in  need  of  some 
explanation, — I  do  not  say  "excuse".  Can  one  say  the  same  of  Imogen's 
marriage?  Lamb  would  thus  seem  to  be  nearer  to  Shakespeare  than 
Dr.  Bradley.  (He  thought  the  "courtship  and  wedded  caresses  of  Othello 
and  Desdemona"  "extremely  revolting"  on  the  stage). 


LAMB    AND    SHAKESPEARE  297 

1681  to  1823  (when  Edmund  Kean  restored  the 
original  last  scene  ''stimulated  by  Hazlitt's  remon- 
strances and  Charles  Lamb's  essays"), — to  take 
out  the  Fool,  to  put  in  a  love-affair,  and  to  intro- 
duce a  happy  ending,  by  giving  the  throne  to 
Cordelia  and  Edgar  and  by  leaving  Lear  and  Kent 
to  close  their  days  in  retirement, — to  do  this  in  a 
vain  effort  to  show  what  cannot  be  shown  was  to 
Lamb  merely  monstrous.  The  magnificent  appeal 
of  Lear  is  to  the  imagination,  not  to  the  senses. 
It  is  the  defense  of  this  thesis  that  evokes  from 
him  that  superbly  lyrical  appreciation  of  the  cen- 
tral power  of  the  tragedy, — at  once  the  summit 
of  Lamb's  performance  as  a  critic  of  Shakespeare 
and  one  of  the  great  things  in  English  literary 
criticism : 

*'To  see  Lear  acted, — to  see  an  old  man  tottering  about  the 
stage  with  a  walking-stick,  turned  out  of  doors  by  his  daughters 
in  a  rainy  night,  has  nothing  in  it  but  what  is  painful  and  dis- 
gusting. We  want  to  take  him  into  shelter  and  relieve  him. 
That  is  all  the  feeling  which  the  acting  of  Lear  ever  produced  in 
me.  But  the  Lear  of  Shakespeare  cannot  be  acted.  The 
contemptible  machinery  by  which  they  mimic  the  storm  which 
he  goes  out  in,  is  not  more  inadequate  to  represent  the  horrors 
of  the  real  elements,  than  any  actor  can  be  to  represent  Lear; 
they  might  more  easily  propose  to  personate  the  Satan  of  Milton 
upon  a  stage,  or  one  of  Michael  Angelo's  terrible  figures.  The 
greatness  of  Lear  is  not  in  corporal  dimension,  but  in  intellectual: 
the  explosions  of  his  passion  are  terrible  as  a  volcano:  they  are 
storms  turning  up  and  disclosing  to  the  bottom  that  sea,  his 
mind,  with  all  its  vast  riches.  It  is  his  mind  which  is  laid  bare. 
This  case  of  flesh  and  blood  seems  too  insignificant  to  be  thought 
on;  even  as  he  himself  neglects  it.  On  the  stage  we  see  nothing 
but  corporal  infirmities  and  weakness,  the  impotence  of  rage; 
while  we  read  it,  we  see  not  Lear,  but  we  are  Lear, — we  are  in 
his  mind,  we  are  sustained  by  a  grandeur  which  baffles  the  malice 
of  daughters  and  storms;  in  the  aberrations  of  his  reason,  we 


298  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

discover  a  mighty  irregular  power  of  reasoning,  immethodized 
from  the  ordinary  purposes  of  Hfe,  but  exerting  its  powers,  as 
the  wind  blows  where  it  listeth,  at  will  upon  the  corruptions  and 
abuses  of  mankind.  What  have  looks,  or  tones,  to  do  with  that 
sublime  identification  of  his  age  with  that  of  the  heavens  them- 
selves, when  in  his  reproaches  to  them  for  conniving  at  the  in- 
justice of  his  children,  he  reminds  them  that  'they  themselves 
are  old'.  What  gesture  shall  we  appropriate  to  this?  What  has 
the  voice  or  the  eye  to  do  with  such  things?  ....  A  happy 
ending! — as  if  the  living  martyrdom  that  Lear  had  gone  through. 
— the  flaying  of  his  feelings  alive,  did  not  make  a  fair  dismissal 
from  the  stage  of  life  the  only  decorous  thing  for  him.  If  he  is 
to  live  and  be  happy  after,  if  he  could  sustain  this  world's  bur- 
den after,  why  all  this  pudder  and  preparation, — why  torment 
us  with  all  this  unnecessary  sympathy?  As  if  the  childish 
pleasure  of  getting  his  gilt  robes  and  sceptre  again  could  tempt 
him  to  act  over  again  his  misused  station, — as  if  at  his  years,  and 
with  his  experience,  anything  was  left  but  to  die." 

Those  who  have  passed  judgment  upon  Lamb's 
criticism  have  not  failed — with  the  exception  of 
Swinburne — to  point  out  its  limitations.  It  has 
been  called  ''incomplete",  "sporadic",  without 
"grasp"  or  "system".  With  his  usual  sagacity  in 
self-analysis  and  his  usual  frankness  in  self-revela- 
tion, Lamb  anticipated  his  critics  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  but  most  accurately  in  a  letter  to 
Godwin  where  he  says:  "Ten  thousand  times  I 
have  confessed  to  you,  talking  of  my  talents,  my 
utter  inability  to  remember  in  any  comprehensive 
way  what  I  read.  I  can  vehemently  applaud  or 
perversely  stickle  at  parts;  but  I  cannot  grasp 
at  a  whole.  This  infirmity  (which  is  nothing  to 
brag  of)  may  be  seen  in  my  two  little  compositions, 
the  tale  and  my  play,  in  both  which  no  reader, 
however  partial,  can  find  any  story".  Was  ever 
self-judgment  fairer?     It  is  not  that  Lamb  cared 


LAMB    ANt)    SHAKESPEARE  299 

little  or  nothing  for  certain  weighty  matters  of 
Shakespearean  scholarship.  There  are  critics  of 
the  first  order  whose  interest  in  questions  of  date, 
text,  authorship,  and  order  of  composition  of  the 
dramas,  has  been  at  least  subordinate.  Nor  is  it 
that  he  would  have  been  unable  to  understand 
the  kind  of  nineteenth  century  statistical  criticism 
suggested  in  the  remark  of  Fleay  that  a  critic 
of  Shakespeare  needs  "a  thorough  training  in  the 
natural  sciences  ....  and  above  all  in  chemical 
analysis".  The  real  reason  why  Lamb  cannot 
stand  in  the  first  rank  of  critics  is  that  he  is  not 
"comprehensive"  and  does  not  ''grasp  at  a  whole", 
— to  repeat  his  words.  Comprehension  and  grasp, 
in  the  broad  philosophic  sense,  are  the  indispensable 
credentials  that  admit  to  the  small  company  of  the 
elect  in  criticism,  and  few  there  are  who  possess 
them. 

But  if  insight  and  intimacy  (Mr.  Saintsbury 
prefers  the  word  "saturation"),  fine  independence 
and  exquisite  taste  give  claim  to  a  place  a  little 
below  the  highest,  then  Charles  Lamb's  title  is 
indisputable.  Without  Coleridge's  luminous  state- 
ment of  general  principles  or  Hazlitt's  brilliance 
and  enthusiasm  in  particulars,  he  seems  to  ap- 
proach nearer  than  either  to  Shakespeare  the  man 
and  the  poet,  and  to  have  the  privilege  of  special 
intimations  of  that  inexhaustible  mind.  For  we 
are  not  to  forget  that  what  the  quaint  and  grave 
Elia  cared  most  to  do  with  his  Shakespeare  was 
to    draw    out   the    ''poetry", — for   poetry    to    him 


300  SHAKESPEARE    STUDIES 

(to  use  his  own  words)  was  '^something  to  touch  the 
heart,  and  keep  alive  the  sense  of  moral  beauty; 
the  *lacrymae  rerum',  and  the  sorrowing  by  which 
the  heart  is  made  better". 


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